


Fear of Fire

by Blossomwitch



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Beards (Relationships), Canon - Book, Developing Relationship, Emo, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Matchmaking, Past Abuse, Post-Series, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blossomwitch/pseuds/Blossomwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faramir finds himself haunted by a severe fear of fire after narrowly escaping being burned to death on Denethor's pyre. When Aragorn comes up with a plan to help him get over it, the two men find themselves spending plenty of time alone together, and begin to discover how far their mutual attraction goes. However, Aragorn's a bit clueless and Faramir's more than halfway convinced he'd be a burden to Aragorn; thank goodness their wives are around to help them sort it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Propositions

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally published 5/28/04; some of my earliest writing, which I'm afraid shows at points. Thanks to Stephanie and Monica for beta.)

Faramir glanced up from his reading at the sound of a heavy boot tread, inwardly cursing whoever owned it.  He had thought that on such a fine day everyone would be outside and he might be allowed a few moment's peace in the library.  "Hello?" he called warily.  
  
The owner of the boots came into view from behind a row of bookshelves.  It was the last person Faramir would have expected. Hastily he grabbed up the books that had been resting on his lap and jumped to his feet.  
  
Aragorn made a dismissive gesture with his hands, but Faramir remained standing. Aragorn moved forward and leaned against the small table covered with Faramir's selections. "Do you spend all your free time here, Faramir?" Aragorn asked conversationally.  
  
"Not all, my Lord," Faramir replied, frowning.  
  
"I meant no criticism," Aragorn said quickly, sensing his Steward's unease. "It was a joke." He sighed. "I hope I am not interrupting you in anything."  
  
Faramir quickly shook his head. "Nothing important." He waited uneasily, wondering why Aragorn had apparently sought him out.    
  
"I wondered if you would be willing to take a walk with me," Aragorn continued conversationally. "There is something I would like to talk to you about but--" he looked around quickly-- "in private."  
  
"Just give me a minute to put these books back and I'll be happy to accompany you," Faramir assured him, quickly moving to return the volumes of poetry he had borrowed to their shelves. Aragorn moved to help him. Faramir awkwardly murmured his thanks and tried to hurry the process.  It had been more than a month since the King had returned victorious from Mordor and Faramir had yet to get used to the casual, friendly manner his lord adopted with him--he doubted if he ever would.  He would have been far more at ease if Aragorn had treated him with stiff formality,  like his father always had.  Or if the much older and wiser man had treated Faramir like a pupil, as Mithrandir has always done--anything but this sense of companionship. Faramir was unused to having friends.  
  
Aragorn increased Faramir's discomfort by putting a companionable arm around his shoulders as they left the library. The king guided the conversation onto general topics--the weather, the rebuilding efforts, the well being of common acquaintances--even as he steered his steward through the hallways to some unknown destination.  Faramir was content to follow Aragorn's lead in both areas, falling into step with him and trying to give polite answers. Despite it being the first of the really beautiful days of summer, there were several people about in the palace. Everyone who saw them bowed and politely moved out of the way.  
  
"I do wish they wouldn't do that," Aragorn said softly at one point as two older women curtsied and moved to the side of the hallway.  
  
"But everyone is overjoyed to have a king once again," Faramir replied, unable to fathom what Aragorn found objectionable in their behavior. "It is an honor and a pleasure for us to give you the proper respect."  
  
Aragorn gave him half a smile. "And I am trying to accept that, Faramir. But it doesn't change the fact that I've spent most of my life as a ranger in the north country. As such I find being bowed and catered to a little disconcerting," he confided.  
  
Faramir had no experience to compare this too; he had been the Steward's son all his life and rarely was uncomfortable with a polite acknowledgement of his presence, though he had never taken offense at its absence. "You must get used to it, then," he offered instead.  
  
Aragorn nodded meditatively. "You are right, of course." And he was silent for the remainder of their walk, leaving Faramir to wonder if he had somehow given offense.  
  
It did not take Faramir too long to figure out where their destination was. Aragorn was headed towards the King's private gardens, attached to the royal quarters and completely solitary--you could not enter without the King or Queen's express permission.  The guard who ensured its privacy nodded politely to them as they went through.  
  
Faramir looked around as they went in. The gardens, like everything else in Minas Tirith, had been neglected over past years as every effort was bent towards keeping the Shadow at bay.  Weeds choked the beds, trees had gone unpruned, and what flowers still grew did so haphazardly, without order or structure to where they had survived. But Faramir suspected that with an Elf-Queen on the way, Aragorn's gardens would soon rival any on Middle-Earth.  
  
Aragorn gestured for Faramir to seat himself on a stone bench. Faramir did so, careful of the ivy creeping in around it. Aragorn propped one foot on the bench and remained standing. He rubbed his forehead tiredly, as though now that he had Faramir here he didn't know how to begin. Faramir waited apprehensively.  
  
"Forgive me for ambushing you and dragging you away from your tasks like that," Aragorn finally said. "I have been meaning to speak to you privately for some time now, but there never seems to be a good time.  If I am not surrounded by people demanding my attention, then you are. I can never catch you alone. Sometimes I think you do it deliberately."  
  
Aragorn smiled, and Faramir gathered that this was supposed to be a joke. He smiled weakly back--actually, Aragorn had not hit far from the mark. There was something about him that made Faramir want to talk as he had never talked to anyone before in his life--to pour out his soul to this wise and gentle king.  He wanted to ask about Boromir's death, and to tell about his father's; wanted to confess to someone the awful dreams he had been having. And he wanted to tell about the terrible fear that seized him whenever he had to pass the hearth fire in the great hall, so like a bonfire--how he could no longer so much as light a candle without trembling.    
  
Something about Aragorn's face and smile drew these impulses out of Faramir, and so Faramir built a wall of people between them. He tried to avoid personal conversations like they were engaged in now to remove himself from temptation. It would not be right to lay his burdens at the feet of a man who had already done so much for him, and who had so many other burdens already. Aragorn was a good man, and Faramir knew if he realized how distressed Faramir still was, he would worry. Faramir couldn't allow the king to worry on his account.  
  
"At any rate, what I have to say simply has to be said in private, where no one can overhear us," Aragorn continued. He paused, again seeming to  have difficulty finding the right words. "And I am relying on your discretion."  
  
"Of course, my liege," Faramir assured him promptly. "I would never repeat anything you said to me."  
  
"I know you would not," Aragorn replied absently.  He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Faramir, my relationship with the Queen is not normal."  
  
If Faramir had been expecting something, this was certainly not it. "How so?" he ventured cautiously, when it became apparent he was supposed to speak.  
  
Aragorn exhaled softly. He sat down on the bench, to Faramir's great relief--it had been awkward to be seated while the king remained standing.  "I have not always known who I was," he stated. "I was raised in Imladris by Lord Elrond who treated me as a foster-son--it was not until I was a man that he took me aside and told me of my true heritage. He did so for many reasons, not the least of which was the gathering darkness. For many days I thought of nothing but that--of how I could use this heritage against the Shadow, of whether I should assert my claim or not, and how to do it. But after a while other things began to come to my mind, and one of them was this: that if I was indeed the heir of Isildur, and the last of my bloodline, then it was my duty to continue the line--in short, to have children.  
  
"Most people wouldn't have considered this to be a big realization, but to me it was. It was because I had just recently come to another realization about myself--that the fairer sex held no allure for me. I was attracted to men." He had been looking away from Faramir as he spoke, but now he turned and held his Steward's eye, as if to impart the seriousness of what came next. "This has always been true of me, and it is to this day."  
  
Faramir's head reeled. The Queen--she was giving up her immortality for a man who did not,  who could not, love her? "And what of the Queen, my lord?" he stammered.  
  
Aragorn smiled fondly. "Ah, the Queen.  Well, I had just become friends with Arwen at that time, as she had been in Lorien for most of my childhood.  There was something about her that I inherently trusted, and I poured out my heart to her those weeks.  I must confess I looked on her then as something of a grandmother," Aragorn said, blushing slightly--as any man would have making such a confession about his wife. "She was so much older than I, and so much wiser. Like Mithrandir. Between the two of them they set me on my course, and I shall ever be grateful.  And when I spoke to Arwen about my fears of marrying and having children, she set me straight there too.  She asked me just exactly what it was about the idea that frightened me, and it forced me to think.  I told her that I was afraid of harming a great lady by harnessing her into marriage with a man who didn't love her, and I told her I was afraid of being without love myself, kept from pursuing my passions by a jealous wife."  
  
"And what did she do?" Faramir asked.  
  
"She laughed," Aragorn replied with a grin. "She laughed for a long time, and when she got control of herself she told me the answer was simple: marry somebody in the same boat.  Get married to a woman who was attracted to women, and then we could raise children together and seek our loves elsewhere."  
  
Faramir's head swam again, but Aragorn smiled and quickly reassured him. "Nay, Faramir, the Queen is not such a woman. Let me explain. At first it seemed a good plan, but then I fretted to Arwen that there might be no such lady of suitable rank when the time came for me to marry.  I had to be married to somebody with the proper lineage to be a Queen of Gondor. Arwen grew solemn, and agreed with me that this might pose a problem. And it was several years later that she came up with the solution.  
  
"I had been abroad, and it was at a chance meeting in Lorien when she came to me, her eyes shining. 'Aragorn,' she said, 'I have found a solution to our problem. I will marry you.  No one can object to my lineage as being too low for the Queen of Gondor. And though I love you dearly, it is a brotherly love and I have no desire to possess you alone, or keep you from finding a true mate. I will be able to give you the heirs you seek, and when your life is over I will sail over the sea and find a love of my own.'  
  
"There was no swaying her. So that is how it came to be, Faramir. We fabricated the story of our love and of her great sacrifice to present to the masses. I knew that I could never acknowledge openly what I was.  You know as well as I that for a man to love another man is not generally smiled on." Faramir nodded vigorously--oh yes, he knew this very well. "Very few people would understand. Such preferences may be tolerated in a guard or a soldier, but in the King it must remain hidden." Aragorn paused. "And in the Steward, as well."  
  
Faramir went cold--was he that obvious? He took a few deep breaths to try to calm himself. Aragorn was of Numenorean blood and he had been raised by elves, it was natural that he was able to sense things Faramir prayed others could not.  Then, before Faramir could sink too deeply into his panic, he realized Aragorn was smiling at him compassionately. "Boromir told me," he said gently. "In Lorien. When he found out about me. You are not obvious, Faramir. In fact, had Boromir not told me I never would have known."  
  
Faramir took a large gulp of air. "You scared me," he sighed.  
  
"I am sorry," Aragorn said contritely. "And I am sorry for burdening you with such a long story, but I thought it best that you know."  
  
"No, no, I'm glad you told me," Faramir assured him hastily. "And I'm honored with your confidence," he added a bit more formally.  
  
"There is more."  
  
"Sire?" _How much more complicated could this story get?_ Faramir wondered.  
  
"I told you that story so that I could make a suggestion," Aragorn said.  He was fidgeting with the hem of his tunic and looking extremely nervous again. "It's a very forward suggestion, and I hope that you'll forgive me for making it. After all, we have only known each other a few months--but I think it could be a great help to you, and I feel I can trust you.  And I have to tell you that, whether you decide to take this suggestion or not,  it is even more important that you keep private what I will tell you next than what I just told you about myself and Arwen."  
  
Faramir nodded solemnly. Aragorn took a deep breath. "I know a lady," he began.  "A lady who is like you and me, loving only her own sex. She is a lady of high breeding, whom I could have and probably would have married had it not been that Arwen and I had announced our engagement long ago, and to throw it aside would be suspect.  Yet I wish it were not so. This lady has struggled against what she is for a long time, against that and the other invisible bars around her, and I fear for her. She must not return to Edoras." Aragorn stopped short, suddenly realizing he had said too much, then smiled a relaxed smile. "I speak of the Lady Eowyn of Rohan, if you had not already surmised. Has she ever spoken to you of this?"  
  
Faramir shook his head wonderingly. He had become rather close, he thought, with Lady Eowyn while they were confined in the Houses of Healing together, but nothing like this had ever come up. Nor, if it had, was he certain he would have had the confidence to reveal his own preferences to her.  And she was certainly good at hiding it. "How did you come to know this, my lord?"  
  
"Theoden," Aragorn replied. "While in Rohan on the quest, Eowyn gave every appearance of having fallen in love with me. Theoden pulled me aside to warn me that it was not so, and to tell me of her predicament. She is so desperate for freedom, to be away from her difficult roles and the over-protectiveness of her brother that she would do anything--even throw herself into a marriage with a man she did not love--to escape."  
  
Aragorn paused, looking at Faramir as if he expected the steward to speak. When Faramir remained silent, the king continued hesitantly. "It should not be too difficult to see what I am proposing," he said. "I know you are fond of Eowyn, and she of you.  Both of you have a need to marry and have children, especially now that you are the last of your bloodline as I am of mine." Faramir hid his little flinch of pain at this reminder. "And you are of roughly equal rank with one another. Most importantly, you will each be free to find a real love someday. I know you will be able to give Eowyn the freedom she craves, and--" He broke off abruptly, something shadowing his eyes. "And perhaps she will be able to offer you some solace as well," he concluded.  
  
Faramir understood by this last statement that he had not been hiding his anguish from the King as well as he had hoped. "It is a wonderful idea, my lord," he said. "If everything is as you say, then I believe Eowyn and I could--be of great use to each other."  
  
Aragorn nodded enthusiastically, looking relieved. "Do not decide all at once," he cautioned. "Take a few days to think about it. If you can find no objections then I suggest you approach her--cautiously, for she is still grieving." Aragorn looked like he was going to say more, but stopped himself. He went on in a different vein. "I'm glad you're not angry with me for making such a bold suggestion."  
  
Faramir shook his head,  appalled that the King could believe Faramir would be angry with him for offering such good advice--for taking the time, indeed, to care for his and Eowyn's happiness at all. "It was very kind of you," he said aloud, "to take the time to devise such a solution for the Lady Eowyn and myself."  
  
Aragorn shook his head. "Nay, the solution was already there.  I merely brought it to your attention."  
  
A thought struck Faramir. "Does Eomer know? About Eowyn?"  
  
"I do not know, though I believe he does," Aragorn said. "You will have to ask Eowyn what you should say when you apply to him for her hand."  
  
Faramir marveled at the way Aragorn seemed able to read his mind. "Yes, sire."  
  
They settled into an uncomfortable silence--uncomfortable, at least, for Faramir.  Aragorn was seemingly at ease, looking meditatively out into the gardens. Faramir tried not to fidget and waited politely to be dismissed.  
  
"Faramir." Aragorn suddenly broke the silence that had been filled only by the occasional birdsong. He turned to look at Faramir. "You must let me know if there is anything I can do for you."  
  
Faramir was completely nonplussed. "Sire?"  
  
"I worry about you," Aragorn said fondly. "You are alone too much of the time. You must let me be your friend."  
  
Faramir went hot all over. This wasn't happening, it just wasn't happening! He had fought too hard to put a wall up between him and Aragorn, to prevent just this sort of occurance. "It isn't my place, sire," Faramir stammered. "To be your friend."  
  
Aragorn turned tired eyes on him. "Then whose place is it?" he asked sadly. "You are the closest in rank to me within the city. If you feel yourself so far removed from me as to be unable to see me as a man, but only as a king, then who am I to turn to for companionship?"  
  
Guilt washed over Faramir. He had been thinking only of his own discomfort; it had not occurred to him that the King might be lonely, but it should have. "I had not seen it that way," he admitted.  
  
"I know you haven't," Aragorn said with a smile. "I suggest you start to.  And I also suggest you get rid of the I'm-not-worthy attitude and let me be your friend, Faramir. For I will not give up until you do.  You will find out that I can be very persistent and annoying when I want something badly."  
  
Faramir smiled weakly. How could the King want friendship with him this badly? "I surrender," he offered.  
  
Aragorn smiled broadly. "Good! Now go think about what I've said, and if you find everything in order you can go seek out your lady," he said, adding a suggestive waggle of the eyebrows.  
  
Faramir grinned back, one of the first real smiles to cross his face in days. He rose and bowed, preparing to depart--but Aragorn also sprang to his feet and caught Faramir halfway through the bow. "You do not have to do that in private, Faramir," he said seriously.  
  
Faramir grimaced. "If you wish. I'll try to break the habit."  
  
Aragorn nodded, his eyes not leaving Faramir's face. All traces of levity were gone.  Faramir waited uncomfortably to be released. "Faramir," Aragorn breathed, "you must trust me. You must come to me if you need or want help. I can see you being eaten away, slowly consumed from the inside out, and it pains me greater than I can say. Lady Eowyn is not the only one still living with the shadow of their grief." Aragorn gripped Faramir's arm firmly. "Talk to me. Let me help you.  If there is need, I am here for you."  
  
Not trusting his voice to remain steady, Faramir nodded, once. Aragorn held him for a minute more, searching his face to see if Faramir had taken his words to heart. Whatever he found there apparently satisfied him, for he pulled the younger man into a loose embrace.  Faramir returned it out of habit. This close, he could smell the musky scent of herbs that always followed the king around  so much better than he usually could.  Without realizing he was doing so he tightened his arms around Aragorn slightly, breathing in the comforting scent. He had not felt this loved, this cared for since Boromir--  
  
Faramir pulled away hastily, away from the dangerous comfort that was causing him to feel too much.  He nodded his head in deference to Aragorn, mindful that he had been forbidden to bow, and beat a hasty retreat before the tears could start to fall.  
  
  
  



	2. Arrangements

A few hours after his talk with Aragorn, Faramir exited his quarters in search of the Lady Eowyn.  The sun was beginning to set and the fading rays seemed determined to get in his eyes as he walked. This only served to further irritate them; they were already slightly red and swollen from crying.  Faramir tried to shield his eyes with his hand as he wove through the crowds, cursing the weak nature that made him cry at the drop of a hat.  Sometimes he was even unable to contain his tears until he could get into a private place to shed them. It was a weakness he had struggled with all his life.  Something that not even Boromir could help him with, because he did not understand it. Boromir rarely cried.  And now, Faramir rarely did so either.  
  
Not in public, at least.  
  
He had been in his early teens when he had discovered an almost fail-proof method for keeping the tears at bay until he could get into a private place to shed them.  That was why he had spent much of his spare time in his youth in the library, committing pieces of arcane and difficult poetry to memory.  Then when he felt the familiar stinging start behind his eyes he would swallow and try to remember as much as he could. He had gotten through many of Denethor's council meetings by reciting under his breath, barely moving his lips, letting the insults and belittlements slide past him without really paying attention. There was a catch: the tears would always return the moment he was in private. But that did not really matter; Faramir could afford to indulge his own weakness as long as he could keep it hidden from others.  
  
Faramir made a conscious effort to think about something else--like his current mission. He had not forgotten that Aragorn had cautioned him to wait a few days before seeking out Eowyn, but Faramir felt otherwise. If Eowyn was truly as desperate as Aragorn had portrayed her to be,  there was nothing to stop her from making a bid at another man the way she had with Aragorn in Rohan. And this time, there was no Theoden to step in and warn the gentleman of his niece's true intentions. Faramir shook his head slightly. _So much loss. So many good men dead, so many families torn asunder. I must not allow myself to think only of  Boromir, there are others who mourn. I must stop being selfish._   Faramir recited poetry until he arrived at the quarters Eowyn and Eomer shared.  
  
A servant let him in and politely directed him to the gardens in back of the house. Faramir entered them without reservations, but no sooner had he stepped in than he realized he had done so in peril of his life. Eowyn had her sword out and was practicing complicated passes in the air, so involved in her actions that she did not notice his entrance. Faramir cleared his throat.  
  
Eowyn swung around, sword point hovering two inches away from Faramir's breast bone. Faramir held up his hands quickly in a gesture of non-hostility.  In a moment recognition crossed Eowyn's face and she lowered the sword. "My Lord Faramir," she said, only slightly out of breath.  
  
"My Lady," Faramir replied formally. "Forgive me for coming upon you unawares. From what I saw, the man who startles you while you have a weapon in your hands is an unlucky man indeed."  
  
A shadow of irritation crossed Eowyn's face.  "Do not patronize me, my Lord," she said icily.  
  
Faramir's brow furrowed. "That was not my intention, my Lady. I meant what I said. Can you not accept the compliment?" he asked, echoing Boromir and Aragorn's complaints directed towards himself.  
  
Eowyn sat the sword down on the retaining wall. "I am sorry. What can I do for you, Lord Faramir?"  
  
Faramir cleared his throat again, this time uneasily. "Faramir is fine," he murmured, stalling for time. Now that he was in a similar position, he could realize how much courage it had taken for Aragorn to come to him.  "Lady Eowyn, I wanted to talk to you about a...a personal matter."  
  
Eowyn's lips quirked in half a smile. "If I am to call you Faramir, then certainly you must call me Eowyn as well?"  
  
"Eowyn, then. I..." How had Aragorn begun? He had made a revelation about himself, in order to make Faramir more secure. "I have a confession to make. Not one that I make lightly, nor one that I would make to very many people. But I hope that making this confession will allow a certain...understanding...between us."  
  
Eowyn bit her lip. "You talk of serious things, my l--Faramir," she corrected herself. "Walk with me then, and we will talk."  
  
Faramir moved forward and offered her his arm out of habit. Eowyn slipped her had through his elbow, and they began a sedate pace around the garden. Eowyn looking curiously at her companion and waiting for him to begin. Faramir wetted his lips nervously and wondered if this really had been the best way to start. He had never willingly given this information to anyone--not since the day he told his father.  
  
Denethor had informed his younger son in no uncertain terms that it was not to be spoken of again, and that he was to behave in all respects as though it was not so. Then he had given Faramir a beating to drive home the lesson.  It was one of only half a dozen times Denethor had hit Faramir, and the only time it was for something Faramir truly couldn't help. After that Faramir had obeyed his father and never spoken of his desires to anyone. Indeed, he had taken pains in the opposite direction, working very hard to hide his preferences from all.  
  
But there was one person who had never had to be told, and it was the same person who applied the healing salve to Faramir's back when he had been beaten. Faramir willed his thoughts away from the direction they were headed. Even his dearest memories of Boromir were tainted by the fact his brother was dead, and it did not do to dwell on them.  
  
Eowyn was still waiting for him to speak--he had to take this leap of faith in her. Nevertheless, he could not help but caution her one more time before he began. "Eowyn, what I have to say is for your ears only."  
  
Eowyn nodded her understanding. "I would never repeat a confidence," she said firmly.  
  
Faramir smiled at her unwitting echo of his previous conversation with Aragorn. "Very well, then." How on earth to begin? He hesitated a moment longer, then suddenly found some common ground to start with. "You know, better than most I imagine, how it can be necessary for a person of our rank to sacrifice part of their personal life to what is expected of them." Eowyn nodded, looking as though she found this trend in the conversation ironic. "Yes. Well, I have experienced this most of my life in a very personal area. I am not attracted to women," he said bluntly.  
  
Eowyn stopped moving, and Faramir by necessity halted also. He met her keen gaze, trying not to flinch away as she studied his face. He had grown up used to such scrutiny, but it was no easy thing he had just done.  
  
"Not at all?" Eowyn queried delicately.  
  
Faramir smiled humorlessly. "As friends and nothing more. I'm sure you understand me."  
  
"Oh, yes. Yes, I understand you very well."  
  
Faramir repressed an amused snort at Eowyn's fervent answer, and they resumed walking. "So I am sure you also understand that for me to marry it would never be a matter of love, but rather one of mutual convenience," he said. "A political marriage." Eowyn tensed slightly, almost as though she guessed some part of what was coming, although she kept her face blank.  "I had always assumed that I would be forced to hide what I was from my spouse, if for no other reason than to keep her from pain.  I wish to shackle no lady to an unloving husband. But recently it has been brought to my attention that I might not be the only one searching for--" He paused to try to come up with the best possible wording. "An understanding spouse who would allow me to pursue my passions while providing me with the necessary alliance. Do you know anyone in such need, Eowyn?" he asked quietly.  
  
Eowyn was very tense. Her eyes were veiled, as though she didn't know how far it was safe to go in this conversation. "I may know a lady," she said cautiously.  
  
"A lady of Rohan?" Faramir asked, quite willing to speak in the third person for a while. Eowyn nodded. "Excellent.  It would be good to reinforce the political alliance between Gondor and Rohan this way. I daresay you may have been thinking as much when you courted Aragorn," he continued blandly, ignoring her flinch. "But is she someone I can get along with, do you think?"  
  
Eowyn stopped walking again, and turned to face him. Her expression said clearly that she was not enjoying the farce, and so Faramir ended it. "Eowyn," he said softly. "I offer you freedom. I offer you freedom to love as you will, while at the same time the chance to have heirs and political protection from those who do not understand. And I ask only the same in return."  
  
Eowyn bit her lip. "How did you know?"  
  
Faramir was going to answer truthfully, but as he drew breath in he suddenly realized that Aragorn hadn't actually given him permission to repeat any part of their conversation to Eowyn.  Certainly not the part about Aragorn and Arwen.  Would Eowyn become angry if she learned that Theoden had spoken privately about her to Aragorn--and Aragorn in turn to Faramir? Yes, anyone would become angry at being spoken of behind their back like that, and particularly someone as fiercely independent as Eowyn.  
  
Fortunately, Faramir's lifetime in his father's court had left him able to dissemble quickly and with relative believability. "I have always been able to tell," he said gently. "Not just with you, but with many people.  I think it is a gift of the Numenorian blood that is still in my veins."  
  
"Aragorn must be quite good at it, then."  
  
Faramir couldn't tell whether Eowyn was serious or not, but it gave him an opportunity to introduce the idea that Aragorn already knew, about both of them.  "It wouldn't surprise me at all to know he was aware of it, of this and many other things," he said. "But you, Eowyn, have not yet answered my proposal."  
  
"Oh, Faramir, you call that a proposal?" Eowyn asked with a raised eyebrow. "It was hardly romantic."  
  
Faramir stared at her for a moment. A small smile was tugging at the corners of her lips, so he decided she was jesting. "Ah, my Lady, how can you ever forgive me?" he asked dramatically. "But what shall I do? Shall I fall down upon my knees?" He did so, grabbing both of Eowyn's hands in his. "Would you like me to weep with the depth of my passion for you? Tell you that I shall die if you reject me? Beg you to show mercy to one who is--" He paused, searching for appropriately ludicrous wording. "One who is drowning with desire for the slightest sign of thy favor?"  
  
Eowyn was laughing by this point. Faramir pressed on, over-exaggerating every word and gesture and in general behaving like a third-rate actor in a terrible play. "Be my bride, Lady Eowyn,  and I shall grant to you my love for all eternity. Or if thou wilt not, grant me this courtesy only: give me one last look from thy heavenly eyes before I throw myself from the tower in despair.  
  
Eowyn laid a finger over his lips. "That is quite enough, Faramir," she said, eyes sparkling with mirth. "I understand you."  
  
"But will you grant my desire?" Faramir asked, half-joking and half serious.  
  
Eowyn's next actions surprised him.  Slowly and deliberately, she gathered her skirts to one side and lowered herself to her knees until she was on an equal level with Faramir, exactly mirroring his position.  "For most of my life," she said seriously, holding tightly to his hands, "I have lived in terror of hearing such words as you have just spoken to me. And yet you have given me joy with them. Never had I thought to find a husband who would allow me to be myself. I did not think such a man existed."  
  
"My Lady, one kneels before you," Faramir said seriously.  
  
Eowyn smiled--a genuine smile, not the fake or superior ones she so often gave in court. Faramir had rarely seen her smile so, and it lit up her entire face.  "And I consider it my good fortune to have stumbled across him."  
  
"Then you will marry me?"  
  
Eowyn nodded.  "You offer me freedom I had not dared to even dream of, Faramir, and I would wed any man who offered it to me, no matter who he was. But I consider it again my good fortune that it is you, one of the wisest and noblest men of my acquaintance, who has come to me with this proposition."  
  
Faramir felt a pang of guilt at allowing Eowyn to believe he had come up with this solution on his own, but he dared not break Aragorn's confidence.  Hopefully they would be able to sort it all out later. "And I consider it my good fortune to have found a lady I so sincerely admire that will consent to marry me. One who offers me a mighty gift of love, albeit not in the usual fashion. And one to whom I can give this gift in return."  
  
"Then it is settled, but on one condition." Faramir looked at her inquiringly. "That you treat me as an equal."  
  
"I would not dare to do otherwise, Eowyn," Faramir answered truthfully. "You are no court lady who cares for nothing beyond what to wear tomorrow. I pity the man who tries to make you submit to him."  
  
Eowyn shook her head. "You misunderstand me.  While I do appreciate what you just said, it is not what I meant. I meant--" She paused, looking upwards briefly as though she might find the words she needed written across the sky in clouds. "You see, Faramir, you have come to me with this wonderful idea--you have offered me freedom and love combined. And in the Houses of Healing even though you must have been grieving as deeply as I, it was you who spoke comfort to me. You are so willing to give of yourself--to me, at least--and you do not take in return.  If we are wed I do not wish it continue this way, to have you constantly provide for me. I wish to do the same for you as well, and to have you accept my love and support; to let me give of myself to you. Can you accept that?"  
  
Faramir started to answer her blithely, to assure her with a courtier's tongue that he would do as she asked. Yet something about what she had said made him stop.  It was his nature to try and give those he loved whatever they wanted, even if it meant answering Eowyn in the affirmative with no intention of really going through with it.  But  because Eowyn was going to be his wife, because they were going to live together for the rest of their lives, he realized the relationship should not begin with dishonesty, no matter how well-intended. "My only fear is that you do not yet have enough of yourself to give," he answered gently.  "You came so near to death, and much nearer still to despair. I wish you to keep all your love and energy for yourself, and use it to heal."  
  
Again Eowyn stopped his speech by gently touching his lips. "As near as I came to death and despair, you came nearer to both," she said, softly but in a tone that bore no contradiction. "If you can afford to give of your love to me, then I can repay you by giving my own love back. You simply cannot give and give without ever receiving, Faramir, you will use yourself up. Trust me, I know," she added firmly. "I want you to rely on me. I want you to allow me to give back to you everything you give to me. That's why I knelt when you did, to show that we are truly equal. I want no courtly gestures of you, Faramir, no grand chivalry. I want only a true friend.  Will you do this for me?"  
  
She held Faramir's eyes until he nodded, and until she could see the truthfulness of his promise in them. Then she smiled, another of the rare genuine ones. "Good. Now, let us go tell Eomer, shall we?"  
  
"Does he know? About you?"  
  
Eowyn shook her head slowly, biting her lip. "I do not think so. I've certainly never told him. My brother is many good things, but tolerant is not one of them.  Yet he may have guessed over the years. He will be most relieved to see me taking an interest in a man." She smiled mischievously. "You will be his new best friend, Faramir. He will be so relieved he will practically worship you."  
  
Faramir laughed, unaware that it was the first genuine laugh to cross his lips in weeks. "I'm not certain I can cope with that kind of devotion."  
  
Eowyn smiled and got to her feet, extending one hand to aide Faramir to his also. He accepted her help with a smile. "I will go with you to make it clear to him that you already have my consent. And to try and shut him up quickly."  
  
Faramir nodded with a smile. On impulse he leaned forward and kissed Eowyn. It was a chaste kiss, devoid of any feeling expect perhaps brotherly affection, and it struck Faramir as absurd that he should kiss his fiancee with the same amount of passion he might kiss his mother. Before he could express this thought, Eowyn started giggling against his lips. Once she started, Faramir could not help but join in also. They clung to each other , shaking with childish laughter and thoroughly adult relief, long after the sun had completed its leisurely descent over Minas Tirith.  
  
  



	3. Attraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (According to the Appendices, Orbelain is the high or celebratory day in Gondor, very loosely analogous to Sunday. This takes place roughly 2-3 weeks after the first 2 chapters)

When Aragorn had served in Gondor under Faramir's grandfather, the Steward had begun a tradition of holding weekly informal parties on the eve of Orbelain.  It gave his oppressed people a chance to forget, if only for an evening, the shadow and threat that was spreading over their land.  The custom had proved popular and Denethor had continued it, though his parties had never been as successful as his sire's--undoubtedly due to Denethor's habit of scowling through them, his gloomy demeanor casting a pall over the evenings that many were glad to escape.  
  
Now that the threat of Mordor had been removed and the King had returned, the parties were far from a thing of the past. Instead, Aragorn had taken over the tradition with enthusiasm, and continued to hold progressively larger and merrier gatherings in the many gardens of Minas Tirith as the summer progressed.  They served many purposes, not the least of which was allowing the multitude of courtiers and nobles to interact with the King and Queen in a less than formal setting.  Aragorn and Arwen's parties were a huge success, largely because the rulers themselves smiled and laughed and, in Aragorn's case, drank right along with their subjects.  
  
Tonight Aragorn was humming jauntily to himself as he snapped up the buttons on the sleeve of the tunic he had chosen to wear.  Completely lost in his own thoughts, he jumped about a mile into the air when a voice behind him said, "I take it everything went well with Faramir, then."  
  
Arwen was leaning against her dressing table, resplendent in a light blue silk dress. She smiled wryly at her husband's startled reaction to her presence, from which Aragorn gathered she had been there for some time. "Yes, all is well," he replied, gathering the remains of his dignity and resuming fastening his tunic.  
  
"The outer provinces are doing well?" Arwen asked in a poisonously innocent voice, batting her eyelids for extra effect.  
  
Aragorn shared an amused smile with his wife. Only a few days after Faramir and Eowyn had announced their engagement, Eomer's enthusiasm for his sister's proposed match had become so overwhelming that Faramir had swallowed his pride and begged Aragorn to find some project that would take him out of Minas Tirith for a few days. Aragorn had taken pity on him--Eomer's attempts at male bonding could get rather strenuous at times--and developed an intense desire to know how some of the outlying areas of his newly acquired realm were faring. A task that he could, of course, trust to none other but the Steward.    
  
He had humbly sued Eowyn's pardon for stealing her betrothed away from her so quickly, to which she had replied with a straight face that she understood his duties to king and country. Eomer had looked so disappointed that Arwen had been overcome with giggles and had to leave the room.  The King of Rohan had compensated for his loss by throwing himself into the wedding plans with all the energy and enthusiasm Faramir had been spared. Privately, Aragorn believed that Eomer wanted to get Eowyn wedded and bedded before she could remember that she wasn't attracted to men. At any rate, the wedding was set for a week from tomorrow.  
  
"Yes, everything is well," Aragorn repeated, then frowned slightly. "Do you know he actually wrote a report for me?"  
  
Arwen raised one eyebrow. "Scandolous."  
  
"A very thorough report," Aragorn continued. "With suggestions for improvements in each of the provinces and lists of whom to contact to go about getting it done. And he must have known I wouldn't have minded a bit if he had simply taken a holiday in Dol Amroth for a few weeks."  
  
"Faramir is very conscientious, Estel. You know that," Arwen chided as she moved forward, intent on subduing the rebellious collar of Aragorn's tunic. "If you wanted him to take a holiday you should have said so plainly."  
  
Aragorn held his hands out limply from his sides--he had learned long, long ago that this was the only sensible course of action when Arwen approached his outfit with that particular look of determination.  "I doubt he would have taken the suggestion."  But though he did wish he could make Faramir relax for a while, the knowledge that he couldn't wasn't enough to quell his jubilant mood.  
  
"What are you smiling about?" Arwen asked curiously as she worked her fingers around his collar.  
  
"Nothing in particular," Aragorn replied hastily. Was he smiling? Yes, he supposed he was.  
  
"Really, Aragorn. I know you better than that. What are you thinking about?"  
  
"Faramir," Aragorn replied absently. It was true enough, and hopefully Arwen wouldn't see fit to probe to deeply into the matter.  
  
"What about Faramir?"  
  
"Just in general," Aragorn demurred. For some reason he wasn't ready to share the particular details of his conversation with Faramir that had him in such a state. "I'm glad he's back. I need someone to foist the paperwork onto."  
  
Arwen's hand left the back of his collar and cuffed his head lightly. "What was that for?" Aragorn demanded.  
  
"Try telling me the truth," Arwen said mock-sternly.  "And don't you forget for a second whose granddaughter I am."  
  
Aragorn sighed. When one's wife was not only thousands of years old but heir to telepathic abilities from both sides of her family tree, one really didn't stand a chance.  But he still didn't want to share this with Arwen--not that he could understand this strange reluctance on his part. Arwen was his confidante, his best friend--that was why she was here, spending a good portion of even an immortal life here in Gondor.  If there was anyone he could tell, it was her.  
  
But it was too new still, too private and precious a hope to express aloud. So Aragorn tried his best to answer both truthfully and misleadingly.  "Faramir and I have just been talking about the, ah, interesting particulars of our marriages," he said, sharing a smile with his wife.  "Discussing how we can further help each other promote the image that we're each happily married. Neither of us has someone special now, but we've agreed to help divert any court suspicions should the situation change."  
  
"Faramir is not seeing anyone?" Arwen asked with an amused smile.  
  
"No, he said not for many years," Aragorn replied with a slight frown; it bothered him to think of Faramir having been so much alone, though he couldn't say he objected to it at this very moment.  
  
"Oh, Aragorn," Arwen sighed, shaking her head in mock exasperation as she gave his collar a final tweak. "You are so transparent."  
  
"What?" Aragorn asked suspiciously.  
  
Arwen smiled fondly, plucking at the gold embroidery on Aragorn's sleeve. "Two weeks Faramir is gone, and you have thrown yourself into the rebuilding of Minas Tirith with a passion,  wearing your old Ranger clothes around the city so you're hardly recognizable, and ignoring the courtier's attempts to get to know you. Then this afternoon Faramir returns and before he has had time to exchange more than the barest civilities with his intended, you whisk him off for what I might point out was a very *long* private conference.  When you finally release him you come back to the room all smiles because you have discovered he is not seeing anyone, and then you change into that devilishly handsome tunic Adar gave you--the one you always wear when you want to make a good impression. How blind do you think I am?"  
  
Aragorn smiled sheepishly.    
  
  



	4. Ghosts

Faramir tugged at the uncomfortable collar on his formal tunic as he strode down the hallway, wondering if he could have gotten away with not attending the party this evening as he had just arrived in Minas Tirith that afternoon. He had never really enjoyed these evening gatherings, almost mandatory for Gondor's elite to attend each Orbelain. He had a difficult time being himself in a crowd, even if it was made up of people he was acquainted with.  And  after all, Aragorn *had* asked Faramir to let him know if there was anything he could do to make Faramir's life easier.  
  
But it seemed too odd. Who didn't enjoy a good party? The whole point of these gatherings was to allow people a chance to relax and socialize with their peers in a setting that was not the court.  Besides, his presence would make for a more relaxing evening for Aragorn, as everyone would much rather bother the Steward than the King with any petty problems or quarrels that arose. Asking Aragorn for a favor now and then would be one thing, but getting himself off the hook and inconveniencing the King in the process was quite another.  It would be selfish not to attend.  
  
Faramir had dashed to his quarters as soon as Aragorn had excused him from their meeting and asked a servant to draw a bath, determined to wash off as much of the dirt from two weeks on the road as possible before appearing in public.  He had bathed hastily, turning the bathwater positively gray with the grime of the past two weeks, and dressed with equal haste, which accounted for his having thrown on this particular tunic, one he was not fond of as the embroidery at the collar and sleeves irritated his skin.  He had not felt that he had time to dry his hair, so he had merely raked a comb through it in an effort to make it lie flat before going to meet Eowyn.  
  
She answered the door almost as soon as he knocked, as though she had been waiting, which made him feel guilty.  "Good evening, Eowyn," he greeted her. "You look stunning." It was true--Eowyn was quite adept at dressing to her best advantage. Tonight she was wearing a gown of turquoise, a shade which highlighted and illuminated her golden hair, and its long bell sleeves and low waist accented her figure to perfection.  
  
"And you," Eowyn replied, "look as though you have not slept in a week."  
  
Faramir gave a mocking bow, wishing he could hide his fatigue better. "My lady is observant," he remarked dryly. "As a matter of fact, my sleep of late has been plagued by nightmares."  
  
"Oh?" Eowyn asked as she stepped out into the hallway, her smile faltering. It was clear she was aware of Faramir's history with portentious dreams.  
  
"Indeed," Faramir said, wondering how far he could tease her. "I have seen most troubling things in my dreams." He offered Eowyn his arm, and they began walking down the hall.  
  
"What things have you seen?" Eowyn queried delicately after a moment.  
  
Faramir pretended to hesitate. "Must I reveal myself?"  
  
"Yes, you must," Eowyn said mock-severely.  
  
Faramir heaved a sigh. "I have dreamed, without ceasing, of your brother offering to spar with me."  
  
It took a moment for his statement to sink in, and then Eowyn burst into laughter. "Oh, Faramir!" she complained, striking lightly at his shoulder. "You had me worried!"  
  
"And now you have me worried," Faramir replied gravely, taking the hand she had struck him with. "You should not use this arm lightly, you are only just out of your cast."  
  
Eowyn rolled her eyes. "Yes, my Lord," she said with exaggerated patience. After a moment she said mischievously, "He has missed you, you know."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"My brother.  I believe he is more excited over our impending union than either of us, or indeed both of us combined," she confessed in a low, conspiratorial tone.  "By the way, is the date well with you, Faramir?"  
  
"The date is fine," he assured her.  Eomer had almost completely taken over planning for the wedding and had tentatively set it for next Orbelain. "I need not make many preparations. My only worry is that you shall not be able to find a gown in time."  
  
"Oh, Arwen has offered me the loan of hers," Eowyn said in a mild tone. "We are much the same size."  
  
"Indeed? That was kind of her," Faramir said noncommittally.  
  
"She said," and now there was an edge in Eowyn's voice, "that it was only appropriate, since the circumstances of my wedding would be much the same as hers. Why didn't you *tell* me about her and Aragorn?" she hissed.  
  
Faramir flinched slightly. "Aragorn asked me not to reveal him to anyone," he said firmly. "And he did not exclude you from that ban, even though it was his suggestion that we come to an arrangement. I did not feel that breaking the King's faith was a good way to begin as his Steward," he finished with dignity.  
  
Eowyn's anger subsided as quickly as it had flared. "No, I suppose not," she admitted.  "Still, I wish you had told me. When Arwen spoke to me she assumed I already knew. It made for an interesting conversation."  
  
Faramir was relieved--if Arwen had assumed Eowyn already knew about her and Aragorn, it meant Aragorn didn't object. "I'm sure it did."  
  
They reached the garden Aragorn had designated for this evening's entertainment without further incident. As soon as they entered,  Eomer descended upon them. "Good to have you back, Faramir!" he announced loudly, with a brotherly clap to Faramir's shoulder.  
  
"It is good to be back," Faramir replied, refraining from rubbing his poor shoulder, which had now been punched twice tonight by members of the house of Eorl.  
  
"How are the provinces doing?" Eomer inquired.  
  
"Well, for the most part. Or as well as can be expected. I brought personal word of the King's return to several outlying areas that may feel cut off from the goings-on in Gondor, and I have seen with my own eyes what can best be done to aide these isolated areas," Faramir replied diplomatically.  
  
"Well, that is good. But I hope Aragorn can be prevailed upon not to make you work so hard this coming week," Eomer said, almost conspiratorially. "Got to have you in shape for the wedding."  
  
Faramir gritted his teeth into something that resembled a smile; his head was already beginning to ache. "I am certain the King will take that into consideration."  
  
"And if he does not, he shall have me to reckon with!" Arwen announced lightly, sailing by and joining the conversation. "Hello, Faramir, it's good to see you back ."  
  
"My Lady," Faramir replied, politely taking Arwen's hand and kissing the knuckles.  
  
"As I'm sure you're aware, Eomer, my husband relies on Faramir an extraordinary amount," Arwen continued, causing Faramir to blush furiously. "Almost unhealthily, I believe. Not for Aragorn of course, but for poor Faramir!" They all laughed and Faramir blushed a little hotter. "But I will see to it that he is allowed at least a little time with his bride-to-be," she continued, casually linking arms with Eowyn as she spoke.  The two made a beautiful picture together, light against dark, and from the ease of the gesture Faramir gathered they had become friends while he was away.  
  
"You had best, my lady," Eomer replied, his jovial tone offsetting the impression that he would dare command the Queen of Gondor. "I will not see my sister slighted in the weeks after her wedding."  
  
"Of course not. We will all see to it that neither of them work too hard," Arwen said, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Eomer, while I have you, Lady Silmaen was looking for you earlier, she and I need your advice on something. Might I prevail upon you to leave your sister's company for a time and search for her with me?"  
  
"Foiled again in my attempts to spend time with you, brother!" Eomer declared ruefully, delivering yet another blow to Faramir's much-abused shoulder. "But who could resist the Lady Arwen? I am always at your service," he finished with a courtier's flare.  
  
"Thank you," Arwen said serenely.  "My apologies, Faramir."  
  
"You are of course forgiven, my Lady," Faramir replied formally. As soon as Eomer's back was turned, he mouthed the words *thank you* to her. Arwen winked before gliding away on Eomer's arm.  
  
"Another narrow escape," Eowyn commented dryly. "You are fortunate your friends look out for you and step between you and my brother's enthusiasms. I had to fend for myself growing up."  
  
Faramir made an indistinct noise, since he wasn't sure how to respond. Eomer had depressed him, and he tried to shake it off. He gingerly touched his abused shoulder, just to make Eowyn laugh--he was developing a great deal of fondness for that light, lilting laughter. But Eowyn did not laugh. "Are you all right, Faramir?" she asked lightly. She didn't mean the shoulder.  
  
Faramir hesitated, completely unsure of how to respond. Despite her joking about Eomer's overbearing nature he knew Eowyn loved her brother very much, and he did not want to say anything negative.  He settled, as he often did, for telling a half-truth. "When Eomer calls me 'brother' it makes me think of Boromir," he said simply.  
  
"Oh," Eowyn said. As Faramir had hoped, in her eagerness to understand she didn't realize he had said only a small part of what was bothering him--that in truth it felt like Eomer was trying too hard to *be* his brother, which was ridiculous. His marriage to Eowyn was largely political, after all. And this soon after Boromir's death, it was as though Eomer was trying to replace his beloved brother, which no one could ever aspire to do.  "He doesn't mean to--"  
  
"It's all right," Faramir assured Eowyn quickly, not wanting to probe into the topic. "Come, let's move into the party."  
  
Eowyn nodded, and they moved forward, smiling and chatting politely with those they met.  Eowyn was still unfamiliar with some of the Gondorian nobility so Faramir worked hard to introduce her, and to facilitate conversations with those she had only met once or twice before.  It was exhausting. What he wouldn't have given to be away from here, curled up in his reading chair with a good book and unworried about who was watching, what they were thinking.  
  
As the evening wore on he began to regard his bride-to-be with more and more envy. Eowyn seemed to have been born socializing. She handled it with the same easy grace as Arwen, but was a tad less condescending and more open in her manner.  The courtiers flocked to her and Faramir felt himself becoming less and less necessary, for which he was quietly grateful. He was extremely short on sleep from his journey and had been allowed no time in between taking council with Aragorn and coming to this party, leaving his nerves on edge. He was perfectly happy, once Eowyn was surrounded, to quietly detach himself from her side and look for a quiet corner where he could half-conceal himself for the remainder of the evening.  
  
Unfortunately, as soon as he left the bustle of courtiers around Eowyn and started across the square, an all-too familiar face descended upon him. A face he was beginning to fear the sight of much more than Eomer's.  
  
"Captain Faramir," the man greeted him evenly, bowing slightly.  
  
"Lieutenant Amlach," Faramir replied coldly.  
  
Amlach eyed him speculatively. When it became clear the conversation was not going to continue without his aid, Faramir suppressed a sigh and wound himself up for some small talk. "I trust you are well?"  
  
"Aye," Amlach replied, almost absently, and that was that. Before Faramir could struggle with another comment, he said abruptly, "I hear you are to be married next Orbelain."  
  
Faramir nodded. "Yes."  
  
There was a moment of silence in which Amlach neglected to offer congratulations.  Just as Faramir was beginning  to wonder if there was any aspect of the recent weather worth commenting upon, Amlach spoke. "Have you given any further thought to my proposition?" he asked point-blank.  
  
"You know my answer, Amlach," Faramir replied firmly, relieved that the lieutenant was coming straight to the point without condemning them to further social fumbling.  
  
"I *said*, have you given further thought to my proposition...Captain?"  
  
Faramir began to wonder if the man was being deliberately offensive.  In a social situation it was customary to refer to someone by the title they used in peacetime, not their officer's title. "Steward" or "My Lord," would have been appropriate, or even "Prince," though Faramir had yet to become comfortable with that title Aragorn had bestowed upon him.  To refer to him continually as Captain implied that Faramir possessed no other title, and that combined with the slight hesitation was more than enough for Faramir to infer insult.  But Faramir just wanted to smooth this over, so he answered as inoffensively as he could manage under the circumstances. "And I said that you knew my answer, Lieutenant. I have given you my reasons. Do I need to go over them again?"  
  
"Boromir trusted me," Amlach said, his rising anger apparent in the slight clenching of his fists.  
  
"So you have said, repeatedly. And for some captains that would be enough.  But I have already told you, Amlach, everyone begins on equal footing with me. I have had a veritable influx of men into my unit, and while your position with my brother must be taken into account, I need time to evaluate everyone's abilities and where they will fit into the unit best, along with my ability to interact peacefully with them." He paused meaningfully there. "As well, the position you occupied in Boromir's unit is already filled. While I am by no means saying I will *not* see fit to elevate you,  I am not prepared to move or demote a man I have worked with for years simply because you were my brother's second in command!"  
  
Faramir took a deep breath; his voice had become more heated than he had intended. He was weary of Amlach. "Do I make myself clear?" he finished in what he hoped was a more moderate tone.  
  
"You do," Amlach said, but there was no mistaking the anger and resentment smoldering in his eyes.  
  
"Then," Faramir said, bracing himself to be pleasant and reaching out to put an arm on Amlach's shoulder, "let us not spoil the evening with strife. Come, let me introduce you to my fiancee."  
  
Amlach almost jerked out of Faramir's touch. "With regret, Captain, I must be elsewhere." He bowed stiffly and strode off, leaving a baffled Faramir behind him.  
  
Faramir allowed himself a heavy sigh, rubbing his hand over the hair on the back of his neck. He prayed that Lieutenant Amlach would not become any more difficult than he had already been. If he started causing dissention in the unit then Faramir would have no choice but to move him, but he couldn't think of anyplace he could be moved to that would not be viewed as a punitive action.  He dearly regretted that he had been given command of the man at all. As Boromir's second in command Amlach could have easily been elevated to lead that unit, but instead a man from Dol Amroth had been brought in and Amlach, along with several others from various units who had lost their commanders, had been dumped in with Faramir.  Amlach had been very clear from the beginning that he did not feel Faramir was treating him well. Yet Faramir had not been given a chance yet to see Amlach's supposedly famous skills in action; all he had seen was how miserably the man handled peacetime.  
  
_Boromir_ , Faramir thought sadly. _What did you see in this man? There must be something I don't see.  Please help me, brother. Help me to find the qualities that made you respect and elevate him. Help me._  
  
But there was no answer for Faramir. He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes and was ashamed of himself. What had he been expecting, anyway? The ghost of Boromir to form in flames of the bonfire they had just started in the center of the square? Dispensing advice and wisdom by forming letters and words with the smoke? That would be a mean feat, even for Boromir.  
  
Before Faramir could stop himself, he found himself drawn slowly towards the fire, mesmerized in a cold way by its crackling and snapping. Denethor, he thought morosely, would be more likely to rise out of the flames. For was it not fire that had taken his father? What would Denethor say, if his ghost were to form from the wispy tendrils of smoke? Would he be angry with Faramir?  
  
With a sinking sensation Faramir realized there was little he had done since Denethor's death that his father would find praiseworthy. He had made a politically advantageous marriage, it was true, but Denethor would have been suspect of that, knowing Faramir's inclinations as he did. He probably would have earned only a stern lecture on the duties of a husband. And nothing else would merit praise. He had not been part of the glorious battle before the gates of Mordor, but had rather stayed home like a sick old woman, a convalescent in the Houses of Healing. Then he had freely supported Aragorn's claim to the throne--this he knew in his heart to have been the right course of action, but when had that excuse ever held with Denethor? He would see it only as another betrayal, another wrong, see it only as Faramir following blindly where Gandalf led--wizard's pupil, indeed.  
  
And as Faramir stared into the bonfire he almost felt that he could indeed see the image of the last of the Ruling Stewards form in the smoke above. He could feel the heat of disapproval radiating from the flames, and once again did not know what he had done to deserve it.  
  
~*~  
  
It was Aragorn who noticed that something was wrong with Faramir. He was standing and chatting comfortably with Arwen and Imrahil when his gaze, wandering slightly, alit on a tense figure on the opposite side of the bonfire. A judicious squint revealed it was Faramir.  
  
When Aragorn realized Faramir was staring into the flames, focused and intent and seemingly oblivious to the world around him, a chill went through his spine.  Without any attempt to excuse himself from conversation, he left his wife and councilor and strode quickly across the square.  
  
Faramir appeared even worse when seen close up.  His face was slick with sweat and his eyes were wide and positively fixed upon the fire, his mouth clenched tightly. Aragorn drew even with him and put an arm solidly around the younger man's shoulders, hoping Faramir would lean into the comfort he offered.  
  
There was no movement from Faramir.  Aragorn looked closely at his face and found to his dismay that Faramir's expression had not shifted in the slightest--it was as though Faramir was completely unaware of him.  "Faramir?" he asked softly, leaning in slightly.  
  
There was no change. Aragorn was now positive Faramir couldn't hear him; Faramir wouldn't just ignore him like that.  "Faramir!" Aragorn said in a more commanding tone, shaking the Steward slightly. "Faramir!"  
  
With a gasp like he was coming up out of a deep pool, Faramir gave a convulsive shudder and looked around himself wildly, like a wild beast unsure where he was and ready to bolt. Panting heavily, he grasped convulsively for Aragorn with both hands.  
  
"Come," Aragorn said quietly. His arm still protectively over the shorter man's shoulders, he turned and quickly guided Faramir out of the gardens. He schooled his features into what Arwen was beginning to call his "Anger not the King" expression, one that invariably let courtiers, councilors and soldiers alike know that now was not the time to bother him.    
  
It was essential that he get Faramir out of the public eye before he could do anything to help him.  He led Faramir with his arm still tight around the Steward's shoulders; Faramir followed along blindly, clutching Aragorn's sleeve as though he was drowning and Aragorn was a raft. Aragorn could feel Faramir's shoulders quaking, and hear his labored breathing as he struggled against tears or hysteria, Aragorn could not tell which.  
  
The closest place Aragorn could think of that stood a fair chance of being deserted was the library. He gave a sigh of relief when they got there and found it was indeed empty. He let go of Faramir briefly to shut the door behind them and throw the latch. To his dismay, the instant the door swung shut Faramir began not just to cry, but to cry in a way Aragorn had never seen anyone cry before.  Faramir stood with his back to Aragorn, folded over slightly but still upright, his hands over his face as though to hide. He cried in a soft, heartbreaking way, as though his heart had been broken and yet he did not expect comfort from any source but himself.  
  
Without speaking, Aragorn went and drew Faramir tightly into his embrace. After a moment, Faramir's hands came away from his face and he tentatively put his arms around Aragorn's shoulders. Aragorn pulled him even closer, fiercely protective, and the level of Faramir's sobbing increased.  
  
Aragorn tried to murmur soothing words. He realized his Steward had just been through some traumatic experience, though he couldn't fathom what could have happened. There seemed to be no response on Faramir's part to his words so Aragorn gave up, just holding on and letting Faramir cry, stroking his back and hair.  
  
After several minutes the tears did not seem to decrease, and Aragorn began to worry. He wished they were somewhere that he could make Faramir a cup of strong tea--he knew from experience that having some liquid to swallow could help stop tears when they had gone beyond the point of sadness and become a physical convulsion, almost like the hiccups. He also knew that slapping someone could bring them out of hysterics, but he did not think Faramir was that far gone. In any case he was firmly resolved, having heard ominous hints from both Gandalf and Boromir, never to raise a hand against Faramir. In the end all he could think to do was to gently maneuver the both of them over to a couch, where he sat and adjusted Faramir so the younger man was half-sitting, half-leaning against Aragorn.    
  
The change of position seemed to remind Faramir of the external world; after only a moment he sat up stiffly, making little choking noises as he worked to hold the tears down.  
  
"You don't need to do that, Faramir," Aragorn said softly. "You can cry for as long as you need to."  
  
Faramir shook his head firmly. "No...I don't want to," he managed to slip out between labored breaths.  
  
"I think you need to," Aragorn replied seriously.  
  
"No." Faramir knuckled his eyes fiercely. "No, it's not, it's fine."  
  
"Faramir!" Aragorn exclaimed. He reached out and took both of Faramir's hands in his, ignoring the way Faramir tensed at the touch.  "You're obviously in some kind of trouble," he continued kindly. "Let me help you."  
  
Faramir's tears had all but ceased; he looked Aragorn in the eye for the first time. Aragorn had to call forth all his restraint to keep from leaning forward and kissing the young man, he looked so hopeful and vulnerable all at the same time--and beautiful, despite his watery eyes and red nose.  
  
Aragorn didn't know what Faramir saw in his own face, but he stammered, "I can't abide...the fire."  
  
"That's not surprising," Aragorn said comfortingly, and he risked reaching up and tucking a few escaped strands of hair back behind Faramir's ear. "Why don't you tell me about it."  
  
It was like a dam had been broken. Faramir curled up on his side with his head against Aragorn's shoulder and began speaking, hesitantly at first, but soon the whole story was pouring out of him.  Aragorn had suspected that some fear of fire might linger after Denethor's attempt to burn Faramir alive, but Faramir had hid very well just how much it was bothering him. Aragorn had had no idea, and yet as Faramir he spoke he went over the past month in his mind and could recall several instances where Faramir had avoided fire. He remembered that Faramir never seemed to join the men around the hearthfire on a chilly evening.  And he had assumed some inherent shyness was to blame for Faramir's habit of standing far back from whatever light source was being used in the evenings, half-concealed in shadow.  
  
Aragorn could have smacked himself when Faramir talked about the nights on his recent journey, and how he had been unable to bring himself to even gather kindling for a fire, much less attempt to light one.  Guilt washed over Aragorn at the thought of Faramir huddled under his cloak, shivering the still-cold spring nights away, going without sleep on a mission that hadn't been necessary in the first place because he, Aragorn, had sent him.  
  
"And then tonight, I was talking to--someone from my unit, and what he had to say disheartened me.  To tell the truth I've never cared for these parties anyway, it's hard for me to just chat with people. And I don't know why, but when I looked at the fire everything just started piling up on me, and I couldn't breathe, couldn't move.  I remember I could have sworn I could feel my father there in the fire, watching me, and I got--stuck."  
  
"Stuck?" Aragorn queried gently. "I don't understand."  
  
"Neither do I," Faramir replied sadly. "It was as though--I couldn't move. I was frozen in place and my limbs were weak with the fever and I couldn't escape," he said, his words coming quicker and quicker as his voice took on a frantic quality.  "I could hear voices all around but I couldn't look, couldn't turn my head or even open my eyes, and there was someone weeping--"  
  
"Faramir!" Aragorn said sharply. "Stop thinking about it, now!"  
  
Faramir jumped slightly, as though water had been thrown in his face, and Aragorn knew he had been right to stop him. "What's happening to me?" Faramir asked in a small voice.  
  
"I'm not sure," Aragorn admitted. "But I think you're having flashbacks to the day--of Denethor's death.  
  
Aragorn could feel the young man tremble against him. "How am I to stop it?" he asked. "How am I to vanquish an enemy I cannot even see?"  
  
"I know not," Aragorn admitted.  
  
Then Faramir surprised him by asking, "Will you help me?" Faramir raised his head slightly so he could look Aragorn in the eye, his expression somber. "Please," he said heavily. "I can't ask anyone else for help, I can't trust this--this weakness to another.  It grieves me to ask you for anything when you have already given so much to me, but I remember how you have pulled me from the shadows before.  I do not believe anyone else can help me with this, not even Eowyn, and I need help. And you did say I could come to you if I needed to."  
  
"I did," Aragorn assured him. "And I will find a way to help, I promise you. But there has been enough tonight, you are worn out."  
  
"We should return to the party," Faramir said suddenly, as if just realizing their absence must have been noted. He stood quickly.  
  
Aragorn also stood and placed a hand on Faramir's arm to stay his action.  "Nay, I meant what I said," he said firmly. "You have been through enough for one night. You need rest. Furthermore," he added with sudden suspicion, "I am going to escort you to your bedroom so as to be certain you do not slip off to the library."  
  
Faramir gestured around them with a slight smile. "We are already in the library, Aragorn. Slipping off there would not be very difficult."  
  
Aragorn realized Faramir was right, and had to laugh at himself. He was relieved Faramir did not offer any further resistance as he unlocked the door and the two of them made their way to Faramir's chambers; the young Steward must be truly exhausted if he didn't think it was worth a fight. At the door to his rooms Faramir turned as if to bid Aragorn goodnight, but Aragorn stopped him, declaring that he would come inside and wait until Faramir was asleep. As he had anticipated Faramir turned a lovely shade of pink and immediately began stammering that it wasn't necessary, but Aragorn was adamant. "It's not for your peace of mind, it's for mine," he repeated firmly several times. And in the end, since Aragorn was the king and used to getting his own way, Faramir was forced to acquiesce.  
  
Aragorn made himself at home with a volume of poetry in Faramir's study, to allow Faramir some privacy. After Faramir bid him goodnight and went into the bedroom, Aragorn could hear the soft sound of clothing being changed. He tried in vain to prevent himself from imagining what sort of view he might be presented with at any given moment if he had burst into the bedroom.  He was half-afraid that Faramir would come out to say goodnight a second time and studiously arranged the large book on his lap, covering the evidence of his thoughts.  After a moment he heard the rushes in Faramir's mattress shift, and he let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.  
  
He idly read some of the poetry, not really taking it in--he was too busy listening to the rustling of sheets and rushes from the other room. Faramir was either having a hard time settling down or was a truly restless sleeper. After a time the noise cut off so abruptly that Aragorn felt compelled to put down his book and go and check on Faramir.  He found the Steward sprawled on his stomach, deeply asleep and looking like an angel; apparently he had been able to find some surcease from the ghosts and emotions that had been stirred up.  
  
Aragorn had intended to return to his own quarters as soon as Faramir fell asleep, as Arwen was no doubt wondering what had happened to him.  But something about seeing Faramir at peace for once drew him in, and he found himself watching over the Steward's sleep for many more hours before he finally sought his own bed.  
  
  



	5. Grieving

Fear of Fire, Chapter Five: Grieving  
  
Faramir awoke the next morning feeling groggy and stuffy-headed from crying so much the night before. He stumbled out of bed and went to his basin to splash cold water on his face, hoping it would reduce the swelling around his eyes and nose.  He glanced into the empty study and wondered how long Aragorn had stayed the previous night. Having the King of Gondor sitting in his study waiting for him to sleep had decidedly been one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life.  
  
He smiled sadly. It was the sort of awkward yet endearing gesture Boromir would have made.  He of Eomer's determined way of calling Faramir "brother" and the clumsy attempts to step into Boromir's shoes. *Well, my dear Eomer, it looks like that position is already being filled.*  
  
The unexpected thought, instead of being comforting, left Faramir feeling a little emptier than before. He wasn't sure if he wanted anyone to try and take Boromir's place--as if anyone could. Dressing hastily, he left his room in search of something to take his mind off the disturbing thoughts.  
  
Distraction presented itself in the form of Eomer. Feeling he really could no longer in good conscience justify avoiding the man, and also feeling slightly guilty over his lack of participation in planning his own wedding,  Faramir did not attempt to avoid him. In fact, revealing a masochistic streak he had not known he possessed, he went right up to Eomer at breakfast and asked if there was anything he could do to help.  
  
Thus it was that he found himself happily ensconced in the library, walled in by volume after volume of Gondorian and Rohirric ceremony and reflecting that maybe Eomer wasn't that bad after all. Aware of Faramir's preference for scholarly pursuits, Eomer had asked the groom-to-be to go about designing a wedding ceremony that would satisfy both cultural traditions, a somewhat daunting task.  Faramir was thrilled with the excuse to delve into the ancient tomes he had spent so much of his childhood taking every spare moment to read.  He loved reading about ancient history and tradition--after all, he had taught himself Sindarin from the ancient manuscripts mostly to be able to read about the culture of the Eldar.  
  
Faramir would have been more than happy to spend the rest of the day in this pursuit, but it was not to be. Eomer reappeared in the mid-afternoon, offering Faramir the opportunity for some exercise.  It was clear the muscular man felt that being cooped up in a library all day was nothing short of torture and that he was doing Faramir a great favor. Feeling indebted to Eomer for setting him such a pleasant task in preparation for the wedding, Faramir gave in with a sigh and followed Eomer to the sparring grounds.  
  
It wasn't quite as bad as Faramir had expected, which was rather like saying an orc wasn't quite as bad as an uruk.  He had never in his life been so relieved to hear the bells announcing dinner in half an hour. He was no stranger to this type of sparring--he and Boromir had frequently been known to keep themselves sharp against each other. But Eomer's fighting style was as enthusiastic and overbearing as his personality, forcing his smaller companion to exert himself to keep up. Faramir refused to humiliate himself by calling for a halt; nor was he going to cite his recent brush with the Black Breath as an excuse for his exhaustion.  Still, when the bells began to ring he immediately dropped his sword and sent a grateful prayer westwards.  
  
Parting briefly from Eomer, he ran back to his chambers to strip out of his sweaty clothing.  He gingerly touched his limbs as he changed into a more formal outfit, reflecting sourly that he would be sorting some interesting bruises the next day. He would have to resume his efforts to evade Eomer until the wedding; otherwise he would be black and blue all over when he took his vows.  
  
Dinnertime had become an event to look forward to since Aragorn took the crown. Not only had Arwen brought elven chefs with her from Rivendell, but she and Aragorn set a relaxed table, where friendly conversation rarely ceased to flow. The seating arrangements had become much less complicated since the large party of elves that had accompanied Arwen had left.  Now Aragorn and Arwen sat together at the head of the table; at their right was Eomer, and next to him Eowyn.  Faramir sat to the left with Imrahil beside him. Because Arwen sat on Aragorn's right, this put Aragorn and Faramir right next to each other. At the beginning this had proved useful because Faramir could murmur discreetly, with his napkin over his mouth, the name of any nobleman or courtier that Aragorn had temporarily forgotten. It proved so useful, in fact, that Aragorn had occasionally offended some very august and important persons by keeping Faramir firmly installed at his side, allowing no other near.  
  
Tonight it proved useful for another reason--Aragorn and Faramir were able to converse privately, without being overheard by the rest of the table. Towards the end of the second course, Aragorn took the opportunity to do so. Imrahil and Eomer were engaged in a lively discussion of the advantages versus disadvantages of having mounted riders in combat; Eowyn had been a participant in the discussion also but had gotten sidetracked and was now explaining the Shieldmaiden tradition to Arwen.  Aragorn turned to Faramir as their plates were being removed. "Have you thought about last night at all?" he queried.  
  
"I have," Faramir said cautiously, trying to puzzle exact meaning from the King's ambiguous words.  
  
"I stopped by the library today to see if I could find any records of this kind of--hypnosis, I guess you would call it," Aragorn said. "I saw you there, but as you had a fortress of ancient tomes built two feet high around you I thought it best not to disturb you," he added with a gentle smile.  
  
Faramir blushed uncomfortably. "It was not my intention to build a fortress," he said quickly.  "I was not even aware you were there. It is odd, for I usually--" Faramir stopped suddenly. He had been about to explain that he was usually so in tune with the King's presence that he noticed when Aragorn entered or left a room, but why should he go on about that? It might embarrass Aragorn, not to mention himself.  
  
"I know, you were concentrating so deeply that I couldn't bear to disturb you," Aragorn said affectionately. "What were you doing?"  
  
Faramir explained briefly his attempts to blend the matrimonial traditions of Rohan and Gondor into one cohesive ceremony.  Aragorn found it all nearly as absorbing as Faramir did, and they were soon in serious danger of being waylaid from their original topic of conversation. They were saved by the arrival of the third course, which caused a necessitous break in their conversation. Picking up his knife and fork again, Aragorn commented in a conclusive manner that it sounded fascinating and he was sure there was no man in Gondor who would do a better job. Faramir was ridiculously pleased, so much so that he actually became light-headed, and rebuked himself fiercely. *You never got praise from your father so you run and lap it up from Aragorn, is that it?* he asked himself scornfully.  
  
"My efforts were unfortunately less successful," Aragorn said, drawing them back to his intended topic of conversation. "I did find two recorded cases of similar occurrences, and was able to form some theories on exactly what is happening.  Unfortunately, there was no mention of how it can be cured.” Faramir’s shoulders slumped. “But I have some ideas of my own.”  
  
“Tell me,” Faramir invited, marveling that Aragorn had taken so much time out of his busy schedule to work on this.  
  
“What I believe to be happening,” Aragorn said gravely, “is that all the grief and fear you did not have time to cope with during the war has become irrevocably tied, in your mind, to fire.  Whenever you see a fire, it’s like all the sorrow of everything that happened is pouring down over you at once. It’s no wonder that you can’t cope with it; no one could.”  
  
Faramir nodded, relieved to hear Aragorn say this.  “What the records don’t say is how the situation can be changed,” Aragorn continued. “But it seems to me that the thing to do is attempt to break down all the emotions that have become tangled up in this, to absorb them one at a time so they cease to rush at you in a group.”  
  
“And how do you propose to do that?” Faramir asked, not without some misgiving.  
  
Aragorn eyed him speculatively. “You aren’t going to like it.”  
  
“I did not expect to.”  
  
“I believe the best course of action is to deliberately trigger the problem.  By confronting fire--in controlled circumstances, of course,” he added, holding up a hand at the look of dismay on Faramir’s face. “Something small at first, just a candle or a lamp. I will be with you. You can tell me what you are thinking, what it feels like. And if you become overwhelmed I will be able to pull you out of it.”  
  
Faramir took a deep breath while Aragorn waited, hopefully it seemed to Faramir. “It sounds like it may work,” Faramir said cautiously. “Mind you, I do not like the idea very much. But neither do I like the idea of being afraid of fire for the rest of my life.”  
  
Aragorn smiled, but there was little humor in it. “I wish I could do better for you, my friend.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Faramir asked, sincerely baffled.  
  
“You came to me for help, and the solution I offer is not only difficult and uncomfortable, it may very well not work. I am afraid of putting you through pain to no purpose,” Aragorn confessed.  
  
“It will have a purpose,” Faramir said firmly.  “Even if we do not conquer this fear I will feel better for having tried. My only wish is that we could devise a solution that will not take up so much of your time.”  
  
Aragorn raised his fork and pointed it at Faramir like a miniature trident.  “Now, none of that, Faramir,” he said lightly.  “You are about to slip into your humble-Steward routine, and I detest it.”  
  
Faramir surprised himself by being comfortable enough to laugh. Oh, if Aragorn only knew what was behind his so-called routine!  If Aragorn realized what being so near and so beautiful did to his Steward; if he knew that Faramir had to place barriers of rank and deference between them to avoid becoming romantically attached to this wise, caring, and all-too-available man. It did not bode thinking about!  
  
The rest of the evening went smoothly. Aragorn and Faramir compared their schedules and realized the first time they were both free of other commitments  was two evenings hence,  and both agreed to keep that time available. Aragorn suggested they use his private gardens to work in,  so they could be assured no one would interrupt them.  But before they could make further plans Arwen called them back into the table's conversation, and with feelings of guilt for secluding themselves so long they went back to chatting amiably with their friends.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The next two days were a blur of work and apprehension for Faramir. He was relieved that there was so much to be done, as it kept him from becoming over agitated at the thought of what he might experience in front of Aragorn when they approached the fire. On Oranor he again spent the day ensconced in the library, this time with Eowyn by his side to help clarify the Rohirric traditions he was reading about. With Eowyn's presence the work went slower because they spent so much of their time laughing.  Eowyn was possessed of a ready wit and an indomitable spirit that refused to bow, even under all the griefs of the late war, and Faramir found himself more and more in awe that she had consented to marry him.  One part of him argued that it was as much for her own protection as for any other reason; but another, more secret part cherished her company and prayed that she genuinely cared for him as well.  
  
Eomer joined them briefly in the afternoon. Faramir feared a repeat of yesterday, but leaving the library was not mentioned.  Instead, Faramir discovered that if you could get him out of his armor and off his horse, Eomer wasn't really all that bad. He was even, heaven help him, beginning to develop a sort of amused fondness for the overbearing man--he could see how one could get to like him, in time.  
  
Faramir spent the evening sneaking Aragorn's schedule for the next few days away from his clerk and approving it. It was difficult to stay one step ahead of the self-important courtiers and ambassadors who thought every detail of their lives and projects required the King's attention, but Faramir was ruthless about it. He scribbled out two appointments that were particularly ridiculous. One he could just inform the petitioner that he needed to deal with it on his own, but in the second case the lady in question was the daughter of one of the more influential council members; with a sigh, Faramir added her into his own schedule.  
  
He didn't know what Aragorn would have thought of his alterations; nor did he know if Aragorn was aware Faramir tinkered with his schedule or not.  Faramir had not exactly brought it up. He wasn't certain how far his duties as Steward extended, but he did know he disliked the thought of Aragorn bogged down with pointless inquiries and political intrigues when there were so many better uses of the King's time.  
  
The next day was something of a whirlwind compared to the relative calm the day before. Faramir had half-hoped he would make it to the library again, but he should have known his luck wouldn't hold out that far. Imrahil awakened him early in the morning and shepherded him to a fitting for his new suit of clothes for the wedding. Since Faramir and Eowyn were both showing a remarkable lack of interest in their own wedding, aside from designing a ceremony, Imrahil had taken it upon himself to make sure his nephew went through all the necessary preparations, much as Eomer had taken it upon himself to do everything else. Faramir spent an insufferable morning holding his arms out from his sides while he was stuck with pins and instructed on the difference of shading between red and scarlet. Eowyn and Arwen stopped by briefly and nearly died of suppressed laughter before Imrahil shooed them away.  
  
When he was released from the tailor's, Faramir made an immediate beeline for the heart of the lower levels of the city, praying none of the decorators, caterers, vinters, florists and so on  whom Eomer had engaged would be able to find him there.  He occupied himself making visits to the families of rangers that had been lost in the war.  
  
He had made personal visits to each family as soon as he had been released from the Houses of Healing, to express condolences and praise the fallen ranger. He was aware such praise from a commanding officer often eased the burden of grief (even though none of the Fellowship's protestations of Boromir's bravery had eased his).  But Faramir was also taking it upon himself to make sure the women and children were being taken care of, and had some means of support with the loss of their father/husband/son.  
  
While visiting with his rangers' families did take him out of reach of the various functionaries of the wedding, it unfortunately made him easily accessible to other soldiers. Lieutenant Amlach showed up, and Faramir found himself having a virtual repeat of the conversation they had held on Orbelain, the only change being the exclusion of the part where he offered to introduce Eowyn. Again, as soon as Faramir began to explain himself Amlach bowed and moved away.  It was almost, Faramir reflected sourly, as if Amlach did not really care what his reasons were, but rather thought to wear Faramir down into consenting by constant pestering.  
  
Well, it would not be so. As soon as Amlach moved away from him Faramir excused himself and went straight to his study to shuffle through the various rosters and begin looking for a place he could move Amlach to if the man continued to be a problem.  Yet annoyed as he was, he did not plan to move him yet; patience and the man's close association with Boromir dictated that Faramir wait and see what Amlach was like on the field.  
  
Faramir quickly forgot his original purpose in coming to look at the rosters; he became engrossed in the various smaller problems plaguing the army and began mentally shuffling soldiers from unit to unit, trying to predict where they might be needed most, how the losses from the war could best be covered. He was so involved that he missed the call to dinner and dashed into the hall several minutes late, well after the first course had been served. He would have been less embarrassed if he could have unobtrusively seated himself the end of the table, but Aragorn had saved his place for him.    
  
Faramir slid into his chair, face burning. Miraculously, the conversation did not even falter. In Denethor's day, whenever Faramir had been late (which was not infrequent, as he was often so involved in his reading that he didn't hear the bells) all talk would immediately cease as he entered the hall, and Denethor would stare at him icily as he took his place. If Boromir was there he would make a silly face at Faramir or kick him under the table to try and break the tension, but it would be several minutes before Denethor's glare would lessen and the courtiers would feel they were permitted to speak again.  
  
Now, Faramir only received teasing glances from Eowyn and Eomer, and the conversation continued to flow naturally. Gradually, Faramir felt his muscles release the tension they had acquired on realizing he was going to be late.  Then, of course, the tension only came flooding back as he remembered with sudden force what he was doing after the meal. He glanced sidelong at Aragorn. The older man was involved in an animated conversation with Imrahil and didn't seem to notice Faramir's uneasiness. Faramir couldn't catch the gist of what they were talking about, and eventually he stopped trying. He just concentrated on getting food past the minor lump in his throat.  
  
The meal passed without incident, unless you counted Arwen telling a story about Aragorn's childhood escapades that made Eomer choke on his wine with laughter. Faramir managed to laugh along, but between fretting over Amlach, whom he still hadn't found a place for, and the upcoming confrontation with fire, he couldn't get into the spirit of things. Eowyn noticed and sent him a questioning glance across the table, but he smiled back reassuringly.  
  
When the meal was over Aragorn rose to excuse himself. Arwen always retired with whichever courtiers had been at dinner that evening for music and general socializing, and sometimes Aragorn would join them, but often he still had meetings to attend to in the evenings. Tonight after he had bid farewell to everyone he glanced questioningly at Faramir, and jerked his head slightly towards the hallway. Faramir quickly rose and followed him out.  
  
"You seemed distracted at dinner," Aragorn said as soon as they were in the hall. "I hope you haven't been fretting too much about this."  
  
"Not too much," Faramir replied. "I mean, that's part of it, but I've been distracted by some issues in my unit. That's why I was late to dinner," he added in an apologetic tone. "I became over-involved trying to sort out where I'm going to put a per--all the soldiers that have been pushed into the unit after the war."  
  
If Aragorn noticed Faramir's mid-sentence alteration, which Faramir rather suspected he did, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he said, "Do you need help with it?"  
  
"Oh, no," Faramir reassured him quickly. "It's not overly difficult, just time consuming."  
  
"I understand you all too well," Aragorn said with a sigh. "I know it's important that I hear all these ambassadors and petitioners myself, but I really have to wonder about some of the things they think they need help with."  
  
Faramir laughed. "If there wasn't a King, I am certain they would find a way to cope by themselves. But  since there is a King, everyone is being sure to take advantage of your--let's see--your knowledge and experience? Your wisdom and fine judgment?"  
  
"My soft-heartedness and gullibility, you mean," Aragorn grumbled. "I find I cannot turn anyone away."  
  
"That is a strength, not a weakness," Faramir said firmly.  
  
They reached the entrance to the gardens and went through with a nod from the guard. "I've told them you're to be admitted at all times," Aragorn said aside to Faramir, nodding back.  
  
Faramir was stunned at the display of trust. "My Lord?"  
  
"Well, I thought it best if we're going to be working on the fire issue in here. You don't think you'll walk in on Arwen and myself in a private moment, do you?" Faramir suppressed a smile. "Seriously, I want you to always be able to reach me."  
  
Faramir did not know what to say to this, but fortunately Aragorn did not seem to require an answer. He moved to a stone bench which had an oil lamp on it, apparently previously set out. "I thought we should start out small," he said with a smile, taking the lamp and moving it to a retaining wall that was roughly chest high. "Maybe later we can progress to larger fires. But a lamp is manageable, and easy to put out." The rest of the sentence was left unsaid: if you need me to.  
  
"I truly appreciate this--" Faramir began.  
  
Aragorn stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes was enough. In fact, it was almost too much. Faramir blushed and looked down. Aragorn removed his hand as if burned.  
  
"Ready to start?" he asked in an overly cheerful voice.  
  
"I suppose," Faramir said, his tone the opposite of Aragorn's.  "What do I have to do?"  
  
"Watch the fire." Faramir repressed a shudder at the thought. "Watch the flame of the lamp and tell me what comes to mind. We'll go from there."  
  
Faramir took a deep breath and nodded. Aragorn gave him a sympathetic look. "Don't expect too much," he cautioned. "At least not this time.  I expect it will take many attempts before we can break through everything that's bothering you."  
  
Faramir nodded again. "I understand."  
  
"Are you ready?"  
  
Faramir bit his tongue to keep from giving a tart reply; the constant delays were wearing holes in his nerves. "As ready as I'll ever be."  
  
Aragorn struck the flint. It was a curious device, built right into the bottom of the lamp. A spark could be produced just by turning a knob. On the second try the mantle lit, and Aragorn quickly eased the glass casing over the flame as it kindled. He stepped back and stared at Faramir expectantly.  Faramir looked back blankly; he almost felt as though he should perform a trick.  
  
"Look at the fire, not at me," Aragorn said gently.  
  
Oh. Right. Wincing slightly, Faramir dutifully trained his eyes on the small flame.  
  
It didn't take long for a feeling of nausea to wash over him and settle in the pit of his stomach.  He couldn't believe there had been a time when he had found lamplight pleasant and soothing; flames were unnerving and unlovely, threatening.  
  
He couldn't help glancing back and forth from the fire to Aragorn. He was decidedly uncomfortable being watched intently like this. Aragorn seemed to realize this and tried to look away, but he was clearly unwilling to move off in case Faramir had some sort of breakdown.  Faramir gave a shaky little laugh, trying to relieve the tension. Aragorn smiled warmly but did not laugh with him. Feeling even worse, Faramir turned back to the fire.  
  
It was stupid, really, the two of them standing here waiting for something to happen, neither one of them really knowing what they were doing. It was again the sort of thing Boromir would have done; even when he didn't understand what Faramir was going through, which was often, he would try to find some way to help.  
  
Boromir wouldn't have known what to make of this fear of fire, or of Denethor's mad attempts to burn Faramir. Everything was so straightforward in Boromir's world, everything was either right or wrong. There were none of the shifting layers of shadow and smoke that pervaded Faramir's mind.  Faramir longed for that simplicity.  If only Boromir had been here--Boromir would never be this weak. If he had been here maybe Faramir, too, would have been able to be strong; if he could have leaned on Boromir's strength he could have withstood this fear, he knew it. But he would never have that strength again.  
  
~*~  
  
Faramir was aware of someone shaking him vigorously, and Aragorn's voice floating somewhere above his head.  He had been burning, burning for the longest time, and Boromir's hand was just out of reach. Faramir couldn't find the words to tell Aragorn that he needed to stay where he was, he wanted to be with Boromir. But then he remembered that there was some reason he ought to pay attention to Aragorn, so he left the fire.  
  
Faramir came back to reality with a sudden shock.  He was sitting on a stone bench and tears were pouring down his face; Aragorn was kneeling next to him, holding him by both shoulders and looking frightened.  Faramir immediately craned his neck to look at the lamp, but it was long out.  
  
"Faramir!" Aragorn exclaimed, still shaking him. "Faramir, can you hear me?"  
  
Faramir took a huge breath, and only then realized he had been holding his breath for some time.  "I hear you," he managed to gasp out. "It's well, I am back. "  
  
Aragorn let out an inarticulate noise of relief and without hesitation pulled Faramir into a deep embrace. Faramir fell clumsily against his shoulder, feeling Aragorn's fingers twine into his hair as the older man's arms enveloped him.  To his intense distress, Faramir felt more tears welling up within him. Before he could even try to stop, he was yet again sobbing into Aragorn's shoulder.  
  
Aragorn rocked him back and forth like a child, which was all well and good as that's what he seemed to be behaving like. Miserably ashamed but unable to stop,  Faramir cried and cried, feeling the burning in his throat as he tried to contract it against the tears. He should have known better; once he got started he could never stop until he was completely exhausted.  
  
Aragorn seemed perfectly patient, for which Faramir was intensely grateful. Even this, though, had a sting to it. There was only one other person who had been willing to hold Faramir this way. Even Aragorn's kindness only served to reinforce the grief.  
  
Faramir suddenly remembered he was supposed to be telling Aragorn what had happened, not drenching his tunic. "It made me--I saw Boromir," he managed to choke.  
  
"I know," Aragorn murmured soothingly.  
  
Faramir pulled back. "What? I don't--how could you--know?" he flailed.  
  
Aragorn looked worried. "You've been saying his name," he said gently. "All this time as you cried."  
  
This was one revelation too many for Faramir. Not knowing what his own body was doing was a new experience, and he definitely didn't like it. His expression must have betrayed him, because Aragorn hastened to add, "Don't worry. Even if you can't remember, it would be in keeping with my theory.  In fact, it almost proves it. Your grief for Boromir is so overpowering that it can take you out of the moment, make you completely unaware of your surroundings or even of yourself."  
  
"But what must I do?" Faramir asked miserably. "I cannot cease grieving for him, I have tried."  
  
Aragorn looked at him with something best described as compassion. "You must begin to grieve for him, Faramir."  
  
"Aragorn, that's ridiculous. I've done nothing but grieve for him this whole time."  
  
"By yourself," Aragorn pointed out firmly. "Alone in your room at night, when the day's tasks are completed and you can no longer delay it.  You try to exhaust yourself so that you won't feel it, but it catches up with you and you spend the quiet of the evening crying.  Then you sleep, and when you wake the next morning you throw yourself back into your work so you won't have to think about it. Am I right?"  
  
Faramir didn't say anything; his silence was Aragorn's answer. "You seek solace from no one, so no one dares to seek it from you," he continued. "But there are those you could talk to. There are others whom you could share your memories and your grief with, and maybe the sharing would lessen the sting."  
  
Faramir shook his head impatiently. "I don't have time to grieve."  
  
"Faramir!" Aragorn exclaimed. "That is why you are in trouble here!"  
  
Faramir was forced to concede the point with a nod of his head. "All right. I think I understand you."  
  
"Good. Now, I think you should take a few days off to--"  
  
"Oh, no," Faramir said ominously. "Absolutely not."  
  
"But, Faramir--"  
  
"No."  
  
"Faramir, Gondor will not fall apart at the seams if you take some time to heal yourself!"  
  
Faramir put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder to ease the severity of his next words. "If this is what these sessions are going to bring," he said seriously, "then they will end now. I am grateful for your help, but I will not accept your charity or you deference."  
  
"This is not charity," Aragorn protested.  
  
Faramir shook his head firmly. "You must promise me now, Aragorn, that--" He hesitated, trying to put his conflicting emotions into words. "That if I reveal my weaknesses to you, as a friend, you must not let it cause you to treat me differently, as a Steward."  
  
Aragorn paused. "I do not believe it is condescension to offer you a few days away from work in order to cope with a personal problem," he said carefully.  
  
"But I do not wish it," Faramir replied gently, touched by Aragorn's insistence. "I trust you, Aragorn, and if you think talking to others will help me with this--problem--then I will do so.  But I need you to continue to trust in me. Don't you see that I cannot reveal myself to you, cannot be completely honest and open when we do this if I am afraid it will keep you from relying on me as your Steward?"  
  
Aragorn's face was grave as he considered this. Finally he said, "I see. You need to trust that I will not think less of you for this." Faramir nodded emphatically. "All right," Aragorn sighed. "I promise not to treat you any differently. If you promise to begin speaking of your grief."  
  
Faramir nodded dutifully. "I am sure any member of the Fellowship would be pleased to speak with you," Aragorn offered. "And I of course..." He didn't finish the sentence, but Faramir understood.  
  
"Thank you. It is a kind offer, but I believe it will be best if I can speak to my family first," he said slowly, working it out in his head as he went. "Imrahil...his daughter, Lotheriel...people who knew him before the war." Even saying that much threatened the renewal of tears, but to Faramir's surprise it was only a threat and nothing more.  
  
"Good." Aragorn clapped him on the shoulder. "I believe this will help, Faramir, I truly do."  
  
Faramir nodded weakly. Exhaustion was swamping him all of a sudden. "Aragorn," he said, "thank you for pulling me out. And thank you for holding me while I cried.  I wish I did not weep so easily." Aragorn murmured that it was all right. "Right now I truly wish for nothing more than to go to bed; this has exhausted me."  
  
"I'll walk with you," Aragorn said, instantly rising and holding out a hand to pull Faramir to his feet as well.  
  
"Only if you do not insist on staying until I sleep this time," Faramir warned.  
  
"I promise," Aragorn said with a smile. "Only to the door."  
  
"Are you afraid I will collapse?" Faramir exclaimed as Aragorn wrapped an arm around his waist.  
  
"Yes," Aragorn said simply.  
  
"Oh." Faramir was not as disheartened as he might have been by this revelation, because Aragorn's tone was light, almost cheeky.  In fact, it was almost as though he was flirting. Wishful thinking, Faramir he told himself sourly.  
  
Still...wouldn't it have been easier for Aragorn to put an arm around his shoulders than around his waist? Maybe Aragorn thought he needed the extra support. Faramir gritted his teeth and resolved to walk with a firm step, to prove he was capable of it.  
  
When they reached his rooms, Faramir turned and said, "Good night," in a very firm voice.  
  
Aragorn grinned at the finality in his voice. Just to see what his reaction would be, he asked, "Are you sure you don't want me to..."  
  
"No!" Aragorn laughed, and Faramir had to chuckle along with him. "No," he said again in a quieter tone. "But I thank you."  
  
Aragorn smiled, and leaned in to give Faramir a good night hug. Faramir put his arms around Aragorn's shoulders, reflecting drowsily that this hugging thing just might become a pleasant habit. He was startled out of his thoughts by the gentle rasp of a beard against his cheek, and the faintest ghost of a kiss. Then, before his arms could register the loss, Aragorn had left them and was halfway down the hallway, retreating hastily. Faramir stared after him for a long time before shutting his door; and it was an even longer time before sleep found him.  
  
  
  



	6. Conversations

"You seem somewhat distracted, my heart."  
  
Eowyn's left eyebrow drifted gently upwards when a response was not forthcoming to her statement.  Perhaps Faramir was even less aware of her presence than she had thought. She decided to test him.  Taking a sip of her wine, she casually announced, "Eomer thought it would be a good idea to change the wedding colors from white and gold to pink and gold.  What do you think?"  
  
"Yes, of course," Faramir murmured absently,  completely confirming Eowyn's suspicions.  
  
Eowyn sighed softly as her companion played with his food. Faramir could be an enigma sometimes. He had gone to all the trouble of arranging a private dinner for the two of them in his quarters instead of dining in the main hall with Aragorn and Arwen and the others; Eowyn had thought it a sweet gesture, especially considering that they didn't really know each other as well as they should yet.  Yet here he was, completely unresponsive--she might as well have been dining with a statue.  
  
Eowyn certainly didn't intend to become a nagging wife, especially considering their 'special circumstances,' but she could hardly believe this was what Faramir had envisioned when he invited her here.  
  
"Faramir? Faramir!" she said crossly.  
  
Faramir blinked and looked up. "I'm sorry, Eowyn. What did you say?"  
  
"I said Eomer wanted to make one of the wedding colors pink, and you agreed," Eowyn informed him. After amusing herself by watching the panic sweep over Faramir's face she added, "I was jesting. I was just proving to myself that you haven't listened to a word I've said all evening."  
  
It was amazing how much Faramir's features could resemble those of a kicked puppy. And the worst part of it, Eowyn thought grimly, was that he wasn't trying to tug at her heartstrings or make her forgive him--he just was. "What were you thinking about?" she asked gently, seeing that he was truly contrite.  
  
"I--work."  
  
Eowyn tapped her fork on the side of her plate, studying Faramir closely. "What about work?"  
  
Faramir smiled wanly. "My deepest apologies, Eowyn. I asked you here so we could relax for an evening and then I spend the whole time thinking about work. Worse still, I ignore you. I'm afraid I'm not shaping up to be a very good husband."  
  
Eowyn frowned.  She was having none of this. Setting her utensils down quite suddenly she reached across the table and grabbed both of Faramir's hands. "Faramir," she chided lightly, "you are the most private man I have ever met! I speak and you sit there quietly; I ask you what's wrong and you deflect me. If I didn't know better I'd think you had some deep, dark secret you were hiding from me--another woman, perhaps? Or another man?" she teased gently.  
  
Faramir smiled ruefully. "Nothing so pleasant, I'm afraid."  
  
"I can stand a little unpleasantness," Eowyn said firmly.  
  
"It's a long story," Faramir warned.  
  
"Well, then you'd best start right away."  
  
Faramir sighed. He could see there would be no getting around his fiacee, and in truth he knew that she was right. When he had realized how long it was going to take him to conquer his trouble with fire, he had realized that Eowyn should be told at some point and now seemed as good a time as any.  
  
He stumbled through the story with little grace and much fumbling, trying to stumble around the parts that revealed how weak he had been to Eowyn. He hated to show a weakness to anyone, and especially to this woman who was so admirably strong.  It was bad enough that he was so utterly dependant on Aragorn for comfort when the memories and emotions began to overwhelm him; to have his wife also feel like she had to take care of him would be unbearable. So he did his best to slide around the issue--yet he couldn't explain to Eowyn why he was so distracted today without going back to the beginning and letting her know how seriously this fear was interfering with his life.  
  
Eowyn listened somberly, only interrupting when she didn't understand something. A fleeting expression of distress crossed her face when he spoke of how Aragorn had noticed his discomfort at the party and hastened past that part, not wanting her to feel guilty that she had not seen.  He explained how Aragorn had come up with a plan to help him and a fleeting  look of wonder crossed her face, disconcerting Faramir slightly.  Finally, he was able to come to what was directly relevant to his distraction this evening--Aragorn's suggestion that he speak with his family about Boromir's death. "I sought out my uncle Imrahil and spoke with him today, and while he  was very understanding once he  realized what  I wanted, it was just--"  
  
"Difficult," Eowyn finished for him.  
  
Faramir nodded, toying with his food. "Difficult, yes, to think about him so much. And awkward, too, to seek Imrahil out and explain what I needed. If Aragorn hadn't been so adamant about my needing to speak with family, I do not think I would have done it."  
  
Eowyn debated before speaking. "I think Aragorn is very wise," began.  
  
"Yes, he is," Faramir concurred immediately.  
  
Eowyn checked a smile at her fiancee's immediate loyalty. "I mean in telling you to talk through your grief. If I had not been able to talk to Eomer when our cousin and later our uncle died, I do believe I might have done something even more drastic than I did." She smiled wanly.  
  
Faramir looked at her warily. "If it is too painful for you to talk about this..."  
  
"No, you misunderstand me. I'm trying to let you know that it's okay _to_   talk to me.  I know I didn't know Boromir, or your father--but maybe being able to tell someone who didn't know them what they were like would help, too."  
  
Faramir just stared at her with an unreadable expression, and Eowyn suddenly blushed.  She was being too forward, as always.  Faramir had opened up to her thus far only because she had pushed him. Even if they were about to be wed, it was a marriage of convenience only and she had no reason to think that Faramir expected or even desired her friendship. "Forgive me, I did not mean to push the matter," she murmured. "I understand if you don't wish to speak of it to me."  
  
"No," Faramir said, "I would have to be out of my mind not to want to speak to you, Eowyn. I always come out of the experience so much wiser than I went in. " Eowyn looked up at him shyly. "It never occurred to me that, having gone through essentially the same things, you are the ideal person for me to speak with of this." He smiled and shook his head ruefully. "And, of course, your remarkable willingness to put up with me  behooves me as well."  
  
"It's just--we promised to talk to each other," Eowyn said hesitantly. "When we decided on this marriage you promised to let me help you as much as you were helping me."  
  
"And I have not yet lived up to my end of that promise," Faramir admitted without further encouragement. "I should have told you about this when it began."  
  
"You're telling me now," she said as she reached for his hands. Realizing that neither of them were likely to eat anything further, Eowyn gently tugged him upwards. "Come.  I will speak to you of Theodred and of Theoden, and you can speak to me of Boromir and of Denethor. There is much we both need to say."  
  
Eowyn was surprised and pleased to find Faramir tucked her body under his arm as they walked; it was a much more intimate gesture than he had ever used with her before, one that pressed her up against his side.  It gave her a spark of hope that he was really starting to trust her and wasn't just humoring her.  
  
Her hope was proved justified as they sat in his gardens, talking long after the sun had gone down and the stars were making their appearance. To her mild chagrin Eowyn wound up speaking more than Faramir did; but he listened to her attentively, eyes never leaving her face, fingers brushing across hers when she came to a difficult part. She felt badly for talking so much, but gradually came to realize that maybe it was as theraputic for Faramir to listen as it was for her to speak.  Then, late in the conversation, he told her as much. "I've felt as though it was weak of me to struggle so much," he told her. "When I see people around me everyday who have lost friends and family and seem to be getting on with their lives."  
  
"Everyone's struggling," Eowyn said firmly. "It just takes strength to show it."  
  
Faramir smiled at her. "I'll take that as a compliment."  
  
"It was meant as one."  
  
"You know, I don't know why we haven't done this before," Faramir said. "You're so easy to talk to. Easier than Aragorn, even."  
  
"Well, of course I am," Eowyn said without hesitating. "I'm safe."  
  
Faramir's brow creased. "Safe?"  
  
"Well, certainly. I'm your fiancee," Eowyn explained. "I'm not your liege-lord or even a superior in court. And I'm not a potential romantic interest, either." Watching Faramir turn several shades of red, Eowyn hastened to add, "Because I'm a woman, that is. If I were a man I have no doubt you'd be all over me."  
  
Her teasing spared Faramir an awkward moment and he smiled at her gratefully. "I am very glad you are not a man, Eowyn, because if you were we probably never would have become friends like this." He paused, pretending to consider something, but Eowyn could tell it was a pretense only. "I must say, though, you'd make a rather attractive man."  
  
Eowyn's first impulse was to smack him lightly, but she restrained it when she thought of a better idea. "I half-think," she said evenly, "that you would make an even more attractive woman."  
  
Faramir's eyes widened. Eowyn burst out laughing at his stunned expression; she was halfway across the garden before he thought to give chase.  
  
~*~  
  
Arwen was later than usual returning to her rooms after the evening's social engagements. She had expected to find Aragorn already in bed when she got there, reading until she got back or perhaps already sleeping. A delicate frown creased her features when, upon her arrival, she found the bed empty but light spilling into the room from the door to Aragorn's study.  
  
She did not knock as she entered. Aragorn was hunched over his desk, tapping his stylus agitatedly against the wood as he stared at the papers before him. He had enough candles lit to flood the room in bright light and was so deep in concentration that he did not hear Arwen's entrance.  
  
"Aragorn, it is rapidly nearing midnight," Arwen said with a small yawn, by way of announcing her presence. "Why aren't you in bed?"  
  
"Work," Aragorn said with a small sigh, turning around. "It never ends. How was your day?"  
  
"I got another letter from Father," Arwen said wryly as she stepped towards him.  
  
Aragorn grimaced. Elrond was violently opposed to the idea of his daughter bearing a mortal man's children even though he was aware of the special circumstances of their marriage. While he had acted his part to the public, he never missed an opportunity to acquaint them with his anger. "Did he have anything new to say?"  
  
"Not particularly." Arwen had crossed the room and now began lightly massaging Aragorn's shoulders. "What work is so urgent that it keeps you up at this hour?"  
  
"I am working on the rosters."  
  
"Is that all?" Arwen frowned. "Certainly that can wait until tomorrow at the very least."  
  
Aragorn shook his head. Arwen's frown deepened as Aragorn's muscles refused to relax under her gentle ministrations. Perhaps the tension she was mistaking from simple overwork and fatigue had a deeper source. "What troubles you?" she asked.  
  
Aragorn heaved a deep sigh. "Some bastard lieutenant that needs to be transferred away from Minas Tirith as soon as possible--preferably to Harad or further.  I'm getting it done tonight so I don't have to worry about it any longer."  
  
"What did this man do, to make you so angry with him?"  
  
"It's not important." Aragorn touched her hands lightly in silent thanks for the massage. "Go to bed, Arwen. I'll join you soon."  
  
"It most certainly is important," Arwen said sternly. "What is happening?"  
  
There was a defensive quality to Aragorn's voice when he replied, as though he already anticipated Arwen's arguing with him. "The man's after Faramir day and night about the organization of their unit. He has absolutely no right to be harassing him like that. It has gone way past the point where it's merely distracting Faramir from his work. He can barely turn around without encountering the man anymore."  
  
Arwen's frown deepened. "Aragorn, did Faramir ask you to remove this man from his unit?" she demanded.  
  
"Well--no, that's the worst part of it!" Aragorn said, his anger getting the better of him. "I know Faramir's planning on moving him but he can't get it done until after the wedding, what with everything on his plate. And he hasn't said a word about it to me, he's just coping with the bastard until he can get rid of the man himself. I didn't even know anything was going on until Beregond mentioned it to me, casually, like everyone knew."  
  
Arwen suppressed a groan. "Aragorn," she said gently, hoping to reason with her husband, "if Faramir hasn't asked you to move this man then you can't do anything about it."  
  
"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked with a frown. "I'm the King; it's my perogative to move any soldier I see fit to."  
  
"But Faramir will be angry," Arwen pointed out, continuing her massage. "He'll see it as a sign that you don't trust him. Whether you like what he's doing or not this is his problem to deal with, and your going in over his head like this as good as says that you don't think he can deal with by himself."  
  
"That's not it at all, Arwen. It's not that I don't believe he can handle it--"  
  
"Yet that's the message you're sending."  
  
Aragorn shook his head. "Faramir will be glad to have the matter out of his hands," he said confidently.  
  
Since logic wasn't working, Arwen tried a sharper tack. Dropping her hands from her husband's shoulders, she said bluntly, "Aragorn, you're behaving like an over-protective lover."  
  
Aragorn turned sharply to face her, his expression teetering between shock and anger. "I'm not saying that's what you are," Arwen said soothingly. She was well aware of her husband's attraction to Faramir, and that so far he considered it unrequited, although she had her own thoughts about that. "I'm just saying that's what you're acting like."  
  
"I am not."  
  
Arwen suppressed a sigh; now Aragorn sounded like a stubborn child. "Trust me as someone outside of this situation, love. I know your intentions are good. But this isn't something you can do."  
  
Aragorn spoke stiffly. "It is well within the boundaries of my rights as King," he said, "to do this. It is also within the boundaries of our relationship as friends."  
  
Arwen could tell by the clipped anger in Aragorn's words that he was now too upset with her to listen any further. "Perhaps," she said carefully. "But do this much for me--leave it until tomorrow.  Give yourself a night of sleep to get over your anger with Faramir for not telling you." Aragorn's eyes lit up with further pique as she said this, but Arwen knew she had correctly pegged his emotions so she continued without giving him a chance to speak. "Tomorrow you will have a clearer head and be able to decide if you really wish to do this. Better yet, you could ask Faramir what he wishes you to do. At any rate, you should come to bed now. Leave it."  
  
Aragorn shook his head stubbornly. "I wish to deal with it now."  
  
"Aragorn," Arwen said sternly, "you need to come to bed. That is, you need to come to bed if you wish to have children anytime in the next year. We only have a few days while I'm fertile, and I know you won't want to Orbelain." Faramir's wedding day. "So that leaves tonight and tomorrow."  
  
Aragorn looked aggrieved by this news. "I'll join you in a minute," he said with a sigh. "I need to have this over and done with tonight."  
  
Arwen heaved her own sigh, but hers was of exasperation. She had done her best, but Aragorn was rapidly loosing his ability to see reason in any issue in which Faramir was involved. She just hoped it didn't get him into serious trouble. "Be it on your head, then."  
  
  



	7. Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Orgilion is also the name of a day, such as Monday or Tuesday)

"Are you busy this evening?" Faramir inquired.  
  
Aragorn looked forlornly down at the disarray of papers covering his desk. "No?" he hazarded.  
  
Faramir chuckled. Aragorn continued to stare in bemusement at the virtual forest's worth of papers that were somehow his to deal with. "You'd probably know before I would, anyway."  
  
"There is nothing on your schedule, if that's what you mean."  
  
"That's what I mean." Aragorn selected one of the papers and slid it across the desk to Faramir. "What does 'M. DA for C' mean?" he asked plaintively.  
  
"Meet with Dol Amroth for Council," Faramir replied patiently. "You are officially welcoming the two representatives Imrahil has sent for the council tomorrow."  
  
"But the council doesn't convene until next week," Aragorn protested. "Why am I meeting with them tomorrow?  
  
"Do you want to personally welcome every representative from every province on the day before council convenes?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then you'll meet these two tomorrow--Sire," Faramir added, realizing that his tone had become somewhat over-authoritative.  
  
Aragorn grinned easily at him. "Well, apparently I am not busy this evening, at least. Why do you ask?"  
  
Faramir shifted in his seat and looked away. "I was hoping you might help me with the fire again," he muttered.  
  
Aragorn frowned. "Isn't it a little soon?"  
  
Faramir shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps. But I am uneasy."  
  
Aragorn leaned forward and captured one of Faramir's hands, causing the younger man to drop the papers he had been nervously shuffling. "So I see," Aragorn said, smiling gently to offset any chastisement Faramir might perceive in his words. "Yet I had hoped you would take more time to work through your grief before confronting this fear again."  
  
Faramir spoke carefully. "I am attempting to work through it, my lord. I have spoken with my remaining family, as you suggested, and it did help. I know it cannot be fixed all at once," he added hastily, as he saw Aragorn drawing breath to say the same thing. "But I believe that I have made progress, and I am loathe to let this lie for any longer than necessary."  
  
"Would you not rather wait until after your wedding, at least?"  
  
Faramir shook his head firmly. Seeing Aragorn's expression was still skeptical, he sighed softly. When he spoke again his tone was slightly quieter, more genuine. "I do not think you realize how much this bothers me, Aragorn. In the past week I have wept in your arms more times than I have wept in the company of another since I was fifteen." He blushed slightly as he made this admission but managed not to avert his eyes. "I dislike the feeling that I may burst into tears one night at the dinner table should someone light a candle in front of me. I wish to conquer this fear."  
  
"But tonight? Tomorrow is your wedding day!" Aragorn exclaimed.  
  
"All the more reason to get it under control," Faramir said firmly. "What kind of a husband will I be?"  
  
"Very well, I can see that you are determined," Aragorn finally conceded. Faramir blushed lightly again. "We can try after dinner tonight."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"I do not expect anything to have changed," Aragorn warned him one final time. "I think it will take longer."  
  
Faramir nodded, fingers shifting restlessly amongst the paperwork again. "Still, I must try. What is this?" he asked suddenly with a frown, his hands seizing upon the order Aragorn had drawn up last night for Amlach's removal from the city.  
  
Aragorn glanced at it. "Nothing," he said, swiftly taking the paper from Faramir and  
adding it to a stack in his drawer. "Let's go over the meetings on Orgilion again. I am afraid I will start running in circles the second you and Eowyn depart!"

~*~

The two men excused themselves directly after dinner that night, as they had done earlier that week. No one commented on it, but Faramir thought he saw a few people looking askance. But he had to admit that this could just be his guilt, projecting onto others his feeling that he might be taking up too much of Aragorn's time.  
  
The guard nodded, impassive as ever, as they slipped past him into Aragorn's gardens. So far Faramir had not taken advantage of Aragorn's offer to share this private sanctum whenever he should chose, but he had no doubt the soldiers who shared this guard duty had been made aware of the offer, and would never bar his entrance.  
  
It made him uncomfortable. He was aware that he himself was responsible for bringing down the walls he had so carefully put in place between himself and Aragorn--it had been an act of necessity. He needed help, and only Aragorn could give it to him. But as much as he enjoyed Aragorn's friendship, as soon as he got this fear under control he intended to try to revert to a slightly more formal relationship with his king.  
  
It wasn't that he didn't appreciate everything Aragorn was doing for him--things were just becoming too uncertain, too dangerous between them. The way Aragorn reached out to him--the way he had kissed Faramir's cheek that one night--the way Eowyn was beginning to smirk and give Faramir knowing glances whenever he said Aragorn's name.  
  
It wouldn't do. Aragorn had a kingdom to run, a kingdom newly recovered from war and having narrowly escaped from the brink of destruction. It was Faramir's duty to help Aragorn hold that kingdom together, not add to his continually mounting  
responsibilities. The last thing the King of Gondor needed was a lover who was a burden to him, who was constantly seeking support and approval and demanded a great deal of his time and attention, as Faramir was already starting to do even as his friend. He was already too much of a distraction to his King.  
  
So it was with firm resolve that Faramir faced the fire again, determined to put an end to this weakness quickly and free Aragorn of the burden he had accepted. Aragorn set the lamp between them on the same stone wall and lit it without a word. He watched Faramir carefully, apparently unwilling to make even a pretense of looking away after what had happened last time.  
  
Faramir gazed dully on the flame and immediately felt the overwhelming feelings boiling up inside him. He grimly locked his gaze on the tiny flicker, refusing to look to Aragorn for even a moment of comfort, afraid of what would happen if he did. He gritted his teeth, determined to keep the fear at bay by sheer force of will. It seemed to him that he could hear dim echoes of what had happened that day resounding in his skull; he could hear the clash of swords and young Pippin screaming, and his father's cool voice ordering more oil. _They thought I was asleep; they thought I couldn't hear them fighting over whether I should live or die. How ironic that the only person present who had known me my whole life was the one calling for kindling._  
  
Aragorn glanced at the sheen of sweat covering his steward's skin, and the fierce lines of concentration writing themselves into Faramir's face. He decided it was time to snuff the flame.  
  
It was a moment before Faramir blinked and looked up. "Why did you do that?"  
  
"It looked as if you might be starting to become overwhelmed," Aragorn replied cautiously.  
  
"I'm not," Faramir said tersely, flicking his hair back out of his eyes. "I'm fine. It's much better than last time. Light it again, please."  
  
Aragorn had deep misgivings; but Faramir looked determined. And he couldn't forget what Arwen had said to him last night; he must pull away from any gesture that said he thought Faramir was weak or incapable of taking care of himself. Reluctantly, he lit the lamp again.  
  
It wasn't, Faramir told himself fiercely, as though there was really anything to be afraid of. A fire this small could not hurt him. Out here in the garden, there was nothing that could catch on fire if the flame were to spread and engorge as his worst fears whispered it would. Unless, of course, one of them were to accidentally reach out and knock it towards the other, and it were to catch on their clothing. Faramir had a sudden image of Aragorn's tunic wreathed in flame.  
  
Aragorn was just beginning to think that maybe it was true, Faramir had somehow already made astonishing progress, when the young man suddenly gasped. His eyes widening, Faramir backed hastily away from the lamp. He turned his back and quickly strode to a young sapling Arwen had transplanted recently, putting his hand out to it as though he needed support.  
  
Aragorn quickly snuffed the flame and went after Faramir, but he hesitated and then stopped when he was a few feet away. Faramir was still facing away from him, the heels of his palms digging firmly into his eyes. His body seemed tense and his breath was audible, very heavy and deliberately even. Aragorn thought he might have been suppressing tears, and remembered with vivid clarity what Faramir had said that afternoon about weeping in front of others. He debated his next move, unsure if his physical closeness would be a boon to Faramir or if it might cause the younger man to break down. He did not want to give Faramir any excuse to consider himself weak.  
In the end, though, it didn't matter. Faramir was hurting, and Aragorn had long ago lost the ability to put mind over heart when it came to this particular man. He slowly moved to stand behind Faramir, placing comforting hands on his shoulders. He felt the tremors running through Faramir's body.  
  
Abruptly Faramir turned and wrapped his arms around Aragorn's waist hard enough to bruise, his breath suddenly becoming harsh and ragged. By reflex Aragorn's arms came up to encircle Faramir's shoulders; then when he realized Faramir was not going to pull away he tightened his grip. He was going to try to get Faramir to rest his head on his shoulder, but before he could begin maneuvering Faramir did so of his own volition.  
  
_Damn._ Aragorn felt himself begin to sweat. He almost wished that the walls Faramir had built up between them hadn't come down; he could even almost wish that he wasn't here, like this. There was something about Faramir that made comforting him irresistible, but oh, to be this close....It was dangerous. It was beyond dangerous. Faramir's face was pressed against his neck. He could feel Faramir trembling; he wished it was because of him.  
  
Aragorn tightened his grip, and found himself turning to rub his cheek over Faramir's hair. _Oh, gods, I can't do this....I need to stop this, now._ He turned away, but his fingers found their way of their own accord to where his face had been a moment ago. Faramir's hair was soft as it slid between his fingers. He could feel Faramir's breath against his neck. He could feel his lips.  
  
Faramir was no longer trembling. He nuzzled gently against Aragorn's neck, breathing deeply. Aragorn wondered if he knew what he was doing. Aragorn's fingers clenched into Faramir's hair and gently urged him to face upwards.  
  
He had meant to look at him. He had meant to meet Faramir's eyes and ask him without words if he was distressed, he had meant to smile at him. But he lost control. Faramir's lips were too close to his.  
  
If he had been thinking at all by that point, he would have intended for it to be a gentle kiss, a brief and tender touch of lip to lip. But he had no sooner begun than Faramir leaned forward, pressing his lips back against Aragorn's. Something Aragorn had not known existed inside him reared up and caused him to take the back of Faramir's skull in both hands and hold the younger man steady while he deepened the kiss, teasing Faramir's lips open and sliding his tongue inside.  
  
Bliss. Faramir tasted of bliss. Aragorn knew he was going to collapse any second, but he didn't care as long as Faramir came down with him. Kissing had never been like this with any other. Faramir's mouth was wet and warm and his eyelashes were on Aragorn's cheek, and _oh gods_ his tongue was touching Aragorn's, and his fingers were digging into Aragorn's back.  
  
Aragorn's fingers clenched in Faramir's hair as he pulled the younger man even closer. He allowed them only a brief gasp of air before determinedly sealing his lips over Faramir's again, delving deeper into his mouth. He explored Faramir's mouth forcefully, not rough but extremely thorough, determined to taste everything. He dimly sensed that Faramir's knees were starting to buckle and got ready to hold him up.  
  
But Faramir tore his mouth away from Aragorn's, his movement almost violent with its suddenness. Aragorn gasped, feeling a shock ripple through his body at the loss. Awareness of what they were doing and where they were flooded back to him just as suddenly, and his body followed Faramir's into rigid tension. They remained frozen for what seemed an eternity, neither daring to meet the other's eyes. Aragorn's hands hovered agonizingly an inch from Faramir's shoulders--not wanting to confine, but not wanting to let go either.  
  
Faramir shook himself slightly and leaned forward, putting his arms around Aragorn's waist and his head on Aragorn's shoulder again. But the tension only hummed thicker in the air. Faramir was not happy--Aragorn could feel it radiating from his skin, and into his own. Faramir was trembling again, and this time it was because of Aragorn, but this was not what he had wanted.  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispered, realization of what he had done sweeping over him. He had taken advantage of Faramir's trust; he had used Faramir when he was emotionally vulnerable. Faramir was always loathe to turn away any comfort or physical touch offered, even if he was uncomfortable with it; he may not have even wanted to kiss Aragorn. "Oh gods, Faramir, I am sorry." Faramir was silent. "I didn't mean to...I'm so sorry."  
  
Still Faramir said nothing. Aragorn thought about trying to explain himself. _See, I know you wanted me to step in and help you, but the thing is I'm falling in love with you...._ He bit his tongue, feeling absolutely useless as he rocked Faramir back and forth gently, like one would a frightened child. He waited for Faramir to pull away from him, dreading seeing the hurt and confusion in the younger man's eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, brokenly, unable to do anything else.  
  
Faramir stopped trembling, but Aragorn did not mistake it for a good sign. Faramir's body was still, but tense. He reached for Aragorn's hand and brought it to his lips.  
Aragorn stood still as stone as a dry kiss was deposited on his palm. "Good night," Faramir said quietly. And he disentangled himself from Aragorn and walked away without looking at him once, his eyes trained on the ground. Faramir's shoulders were hunched and his hands were balled into small insecure fists. Aragorn stood and watched him go, his palm tingling, and felt that something had been lost.  
  
  
  



	8. Walls

Faramir sighed in annoyance when he heard a polite but firm rapping on the doors to his chambers. Imrahil, who was trying to tie the complicated laces on the back of Faramir's tunic, also sighed.  
  
"Come in," Faramir called out, earning a light shove from Lothiriel, who was trying to lace up his sleeve. Under normal circumstances only male relatives would have been with him now, helping him prepare for thewedding ceremony, but in cases when there were fewer than four living male relatives women were also allowed to help dress the groom and ease his nerves until the bride was ready.  
  
Imrahil and Lothiriel were all Faramir had to boast of, and as such he had been subjected to a fairly constant stream of courtiers trying to make up the difference with loud and insincere condolences about how awful it was that his father and brother couldn't be here for this day, succeeding only in reinforcing their loss in Faramir's heart. He had already carefully arranged his facial features into a pleasant, neutral expression when he turned around and saw Aragorn enter the room.  
  
Faramir managed to maintain his pleasant expression despite the sudden nervous pain in his chest and stomach. But he was afraid his eyes betrayed him. "Good morning, Sire," Faramir said politely, fixing his gaze to a point on the wall over Aragorn's shoulder so he wouldn't have to meet the King's eyes.  
  
"Good morning, Faramir," Aragorn replied. His tone was less cordial than usual, more subdued—or was that just Faramir's mind projecting things? Aragorn opened his mouth again, but no words came out.  
  
Faramir decided to go ahead and save them both any awkward fumbling he could; the coming conversation was going to be difficult enough without an audience. "Imrahil, Lothiriel, could you give us a minute please?" he asked. He tried to make his tone very casual, but even he could hear that there was an edge to it.  
  
Fortunately, rank had its privileges, and when Aragorn smiled it was as though he had made the request himself. Lothiriel abandoned the complicated criss-crossing ties at Faramir's wrists and made for the door without a word. Imrahil gave Faramir's shoulder a little pat before leaving. "Don't be too long," he warned gently as he closed the door behind himself and his daughter.  
  
Faramir found himself completely alone with Aragorn—a situation that had never before displeased him, but now had him ready to break out into a cold sweat. Aragorn took a small step forward, and Faramir had to call upon all his strength to keep from stepping back. "I have something for you," Aragorn said, smiling hesitantly.  
  
"Oh."  
  
Faramir's panic must have come through in his voice, because Aragorn frowned and quickly said, "It's from Arwen." He held out a small green brooch. "It's bad luck to marry—well, in Elven lands, that is, it's bad luck to get married without something from a friend. Something borrowed, I mean. That you wear." Was it Faramir's imagination, or was Aragorn tripping over his own tongue? Aragorn was holding the brooch out, uncertainly. "May I—"  
  
Faramir's face grew hot as he realized Aragorn wanted to pin the brooch on him. "Oh. Yes. Of course." His voice sounded flat and unnatural. He swallowed quickly.

Aragorn frowned and took a slow step forward. Every nerve of Faramir's body was practically screaming with his proximity, and it took an immense effort of will not to back away. He was certain he was blushing all the way to the roots of his hair; his skin felt on fire. _Burning couldn't have possibly hurt like this._  
  
Faramir couldn't help a small flinch as the stray thought flashed across his mind. Aragorn froze, interpreting the motion as a response to his presence. "Maybe you had better do it," he acknowledged ruefully, holding the brooch out in front of him.  
Faramir swallowed. His first instinct was to explain what had really happened, but he suppressed it, anxious for any excuse to keep Aragorn out of his space. But it was impossible, literally impossible, to take the brooch without their fingers brushing against each other, sending an unwanted thrill through Faramir's spine. He wondered if both their fingers were shaking, or if it was just his. "Thank you," he blurted out as he fumbled with the brooch, realizing he had forgotten to say it before. "I mean, please thank Arwen for me."  
  
Aragorn nodded. "I will." He watched in silence.  
  
_Is that all you have to say?_ Faramir thought, fingers slipping on the clasp. It didn't help that his ceremonial outfit was still only half-tied together and his sleeves were flopping around with every motion. He wondered dizzily if Aragorn was expecting another kiss.  
  
"Faramir, we have to talk," Aragorn said suddenly, harshly breaking the silence that had descended between them. He had turned his back to the younger man, for which Faramir was extremely grateful, and was looking out the window, his hands braced on the sides. "I understand that this is a horrible time for us to speak. It's your wedding day, by the Valar. The last thing you need is this kind of a complication. But you and Eowyn are going to be leaving for Dol Amroth, and this is the last chance I have to talk to you before you go. I couldn't let you go without at least trying to explain myself."  
  
Faramir's throat had gone dry. "I—should explain myself, also," he said hesitantly.  
Aragorn paused, almost as if hoping Faramir would go on, but when the younger man did not Aragorn spoke again. "I—apologize for what I did last night, Faramir. I didn't mean to do it, but you were....I am—attracted to you, obviously, but I shouldn't have done that. I don't know if you were even fully aware of what I was doing. I acted reprehensibly—I should never have forced you to do that. I hope you can forgive me."  
  
"You didn't force me," Faramir said quickly, horrified at the thought—then he hesitated, embarrassed to go on. His mind had fogged up in confusion and pleasure when Aragorn had said the words "attracted to you," and now he was struggling to process everything Aragorn had said after and come up with a suitable response. "I should apologize I—" _Led you on_ was not quite the phrase he was looking for. "I wasn't even thinking last night. I was so confused, I mean emotionally, I was just reacting."  
  
Aragorn had turned back from the window, and Faramir was shocked cold by the contortions of guilt on his face. "I know that now. I shouldn't have abused your trust that way. I don't know how you can ever forgive me for taking advantage of you."  
  
"No, Aragorn, it's not like that," Faramir protested. _I wanted it too._ "I was just trying to explain why I—why I kissed you when I—I can't—"  
  
Mercifully, Aragorn cut him off. "I understand," he said calmly.  
  
Faramir felt relief flood through him, not realizing that his words had been misconstrued as disinterest. _What kind of a coward am I—I can't even reach for this thing I want desperately. I feel too vulnerable, and I let that stop me._ Still, he was relieved beyond all reason that this chance had fallen away. "I simply can't enter into _any_ kind of relationship right now," he said with a sigh.  
  
Aragorn raised one eyebrow. Cocking his head to one side, he reached forward and lightly touched the dangling laces of Faramir's wedding tunic.  
  
Faramir went cold. But after only a second Aragorn burst out laughing and Faramir, shaky with relief, couldn't help but laugh with him. "What I _meant_ ," Faramir said carefully, "is that so much is happening now—I can't be sure of how I will be from day to day, or when the fire is going to affect me. I can't inflict that on anyone else. Or I shouldn't," he added ruefully, looking down at his clothing.  
  
Catching and holding Faramir's eyes for permission, Aragorn took another step forward and lifted Faramir's arm, gently starting to do up the laces Lothiriel had abandoned. "I hope," he said quietly, "that you will still trust me. I hope you will continue to come to me in times of need."  
  
Faramir met his eyes tiredly. "You're a good friend, Aragorn."  
  
Aragorn moved to the ties at the back of Faramir's jacket, effectively hiding the shine of tears forming in his eyes. "That's all I want to be," he lied calmly.  
  
  



	9. Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter is a bit of a goofy side-trip that I couldn't resist writing)

_How do I arrive in these situations?_  
  
That was the only thought running through Faramir's head as he allowed Imrahil to escort him up the stairs, doing his best to appear calm and confident even though that was the last thing he felt. Eowyn was behind them, in the center of a herd of giggling ladies jostling each other to whisper in her ear and shooting appraising looks at Faramir.  He felt like a hunting dog up for auction--or worse, but more accurate, like a breeding horse being appraised. This could not possibly be more humiliating.  
  
It had all seemed so easy a few weeks ago. Marry Eowyn; have a politically advantageous union, produce heirs, and find a lover of his choice. He had been careful not to think too clearly about the "producing heirs" part, which was well and good as it had helped him keep his sanity thus far.  But now, after a complicated ceremony and a long ride from Minas Tirith, he was being escorted to his wedding chamber and the seeds of panic had not only sprouted but had blossomed into a full-blown garden.  He was half-heartedly considering making a mad attempt for escape down the next hallway; he was definitely hoping someone had thought to put a good deal of wine in their chambers.  
  
He had actually stayed in the room Imrahil was loaning to them once before, when he was a child. Finduilas had been visiting her old home in the hopes it would improve her ailing health and Faramir had been too young to be comfortable being separated from her.  He could not remember the path to these chambers ever having been so long--and that was when walking had been a recent development.  
  
Faramir felt a light sheen of sweat break out on his forehead as they finally reached their destination.  He thought that he would be expected to preceed Eowyn into the chamber, so he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders--and felt a hand take a firm grip on his elbow.  
  
"Let the ladies go in," Imrahil said in a low tone. "I wish to speak with you."  
  
_He wants to speak with me_ now?  Mystified, Faramir allowed Imrahil to pull him to one side and watched as the giggling gaggle went past them, catching  an exasperated look from Eowyn. He winced, hoping all the ladies managed to escape the chamber unscathed.  
  
"Faramir," Imrahil said in a firm tone as soon as the door had been closed.  "There are things we should talk about. It should have been Boromir or Denethor here now, but I hope under the circumstances you will accept me."  
  
Faramir's brain ground to an abrupt halt as he realized what the topic of conversation was going to be.  _Oh hell..._ "Yes," he managed to say.  
  
Imrahil's face was set. He seemed to have made up his mind to give this speech, no matter what Faramir thought about the matter. "I do not know what experience you may have had, nor is it my position to ask.  But the difference between any women you may have been with before and your wife is the difference between night and day," he said gravely.  
  
Faramir wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that, so he cleared his throat and tried to look equally grave. _This is not happening..._  
  
"The most important thing," Imrahil continued, "is to treat her with respect and tenderness. Eowyn is the sister of a king." Faramir tried to look suitably impressed, while he was mentally screaming _Oh, is she? I hadn't noticed._ "Now, you may have been told--" and here, finally, Imrahil was beginning to look a little uncomfortable, "that women cannot take pleasure in the act.  
  
_Valar spare me..._ Faramir nodded noncomittally. "This is untrue. Take your time, and allow Eowyn to lead you. You will find her pleasure."  
  
Faramir's whole face was burning. He was not sure how much more good-intentioned advice he could stand. He distracted himself by wondering how the message he was receiving might have been different if Boromir had indeed been delivering it--Boromir probably would have drawn diagrams, or brought along one of his lady "friends" to demonstrate suitable positions...  
  
"And," Imrahil was saying, plowing on even though they were both visibly sweating, "you must let her pleasure come first."  
  
The door to the chamber swung open, and both Faramir and Imrahil jumped.  The herd of ladies exited, giving Faramir more and more boldly appraising looks as they glided past. Faramir wondered if he ought to offer to let them examine his teeth and hocks.  _What have I done to deserve this?_  
  
Imrahil was talking again. "A woman's...a woman is a sacred gift and you must treat her as such. She will be....inexperienced, Faramir, she will expect it to hurt. You must make her trust you, show her that you love her."  
  
Imrahil's words were spilling out of him faster and faster, and Faramir thought he wouldn't be mistaken in assuming his uncle had consumed a few stiff drinks before attempting this speech. He could take no more. "Thank you, Uncle," he interrupted. Imrahil looked startled. "I--I thank you. I do love Eowyn.  I should go in to her now, I don't want to leave her alone."  
  
"Is there anything you want to ask me, Faramir?" Imrahil asked, seeming sincerely concerned.  
  
If someone had ever told Faramir that one day Imrahil would stand before him, offering to  candidly answer anything  Faramir might want to know about sex, Faramir would have escorted that person to bed and instructed them to see a healer.  "No, thank you, I--" _Oh gods._ Faramir swallowed. "I think I know what to do. "  
  
Imrahil nodded, looking relieved, and gave Faramir a manly clap on the shoulder. "I wish you and your bride the best of luck, then," he said, and made his escape down the stairs.  
  
Faramir stared after him blankly for a full minute before realizing that he still had to go into his chambers.  _Aragorn makes this "arrangement" look so easy..._  
  
Aragorn. Not the best subject to dwell on at the moment. And the faded blue and gold tapestry he was currently engaged in staring at was not likely to offer any advice either. Not allowing himself to think it through any farther, Faramir strode purposefully into the room.  
  
Eowyn appeared to have been engaged in rearranging the small pillows scattered around their room; she looked up with wide eyes when he entered, a soft green one clutched in her hands.  "What kept you?"  
  
Faramir swallowed, trying to get some moisture into his dry mouth. "Imrahil wanted to...offer me some advice."  
  
Both of Eowyn's eyebrows shot towards her hairline. "Advice?"  
  
Faramir nodded, trying not to meet her eyes. Eowyn was having none of it. "What sort of advice?"  
  
Faramir shrugged awkwardly. "He...what he thought Boromir or Denethor would have said if they were still alive."  
  
"And what did he think they would have said?" Eowyn demanded.  
  
Faramir finally met her eyes. "Eowyn, don't make this any more difficult than it already is," he begged.  
  
Eowyn's demeanor softened immediately. "You're right," she said softly, pressing a hand to her temple. "I am sorry. It's just that--those ladies." She flicked her hands outwards. "It was difficult to listen to everything they said but I shouldn't take it out on you."  
  
Faramir shook his head hurriedly. "Pay it no mind."  
  
There was a long, awkward silence.  Neither of them made a move towards the other. Faramir cleared his throat. "Is there wine?"  
  
Eowyn smiled shrewdly. "Trying to get drunk?"  
  
"Yes," Faramir answered candidly.  
  
"It's in the bedroom."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Faramir--we're going to have to eventually," Eowyn said, with the air of one announcing they would eventually have to muck out the sewers. "We might as well now."  
  
"Right." Faramir swallowed, gathering his courage to move towards his wife.  He put his arms around Eowyn's waist and began to kiss her, trying to create a mood. Eowyn responded dutifully, but there was no thrill in it. Faramir let his mind wander, seeking desperately for something, anything, that would help him through this night.  
  
Instantly, his mind was invaded by the memory of last night--Aragorn's hands, his beard, his tongue--the way he smelled and tasted. Faramir winced and vainly tried to block the memory. This was Eowyn that he held in his arms now--Eowyn, whose hair smelled like heather from her soap, not like athelas from healing. Eowyn, whom he had to lean down to kiss, not up.  
  
Eowyn, whom he loved, but not in any manner that counted tonight.  
  
Faramir stopped kissing and Eowyn pulled back quickly, seeming relieved. Faramir cocked his head. "Eowyn. May I ask you a question?"  
  
Eowyn nodded. "What is it?"  
  
"Would you mind growing a beard?"  
  
Eowyn blinked twice, then burst out laughing. "Yes, if you will shave yours," she replied between the giggles.  
  
"Faithfully, every morning," Faramir promised. "And...what else might I do for my lady?" he asked mischievously. Humor might just be the way through this.  
  
Eowyn paused to consider. "I do not think you would look very good with your hair grown out. Perhaps you could pitch your voice higher?"  
  
"Like this?" Eowyn nearly cried with laughter--Faramir could not help laughing either at the veritable squeak that had come out.  "No, like this?" Now he sounded like a little boy.  
  
"Yes, that's be--I mean, yes," Eowyn said, suddenly dropping her voice as low as she could.  
  
Faramir burst out laughing. "You sound like Eomer with a head cold."  
  
Eowyn grinned. "Perhaps I should carry you to the bed?" she asked in the same ridiculous tone.  
  
Faramir raised his eyebrows. "Can you?"  
  
Seconds later Faramir found himself tossed over his wife's shoulder, Eowyn humming to herself as she headed for the bedroom. He should have known better than to doubt her strength. She didn't quite manage to toss him onto the bed--it was more like an awkward roll--but she straddled him immediately afterwards. "How am I doing?"  
  
"Very well. But those," Faramir said with a mock frown, indicating her breasts, "will never do."  
  
"I strap them down while I'm riding," Eowyn said carelessly. "I can do it in here just as easily."  
  
Faramir rolled his eyes. "I doubt I'll be deceived."  
  
"Hush," Eowyn said firmly. "We're doing the best we can."  
  
Faramir smiled and kissed her again. "Indeed we are, my lady."  
  



	10. Conflict

"You heard _what?_ "  
  
Eowyn nearly dropped her fork at Faramir's sudden reaction. "I heard he's been transferred to Osgiliath."  
  
"Lieutenant Amlach? You're certain?"  
  
Eowyn frowned, trying to remember the names the guard she had been chatting with had told her. "Yes. Yes, I'm fairly sure that was the name."  
  
Faramir pursed his lips, looking away. "And this was on the King's orders?"  
  
"Yes," Eowyn confirmed.  "Or at least Miriel certainly seemed to think so. She said the gossip was that you were angry at him, so Aragorn --Aragorn had removed him for you." She looked at Faramir with dawning comprehension.  "But that doesn't sound like you."  
  
"I take care of my own problems." _Or at least, I try to._  
  
"So you didn't say anything, or..."  
  
Faramir shook his head in firm denial. "I did not."  
  
Eowyn sighed, poking at her salad with her fork. They had been back in Minas Tirith for three days, and the King's Council was due to convene in another two - yet she had yet to see her husband and Aragorn spend more than half an hour in the same room together. They were both always busy, always preparing for the Council to convene - they were just always busy doing different things.  
  
"Faramir, you really must find a way to communicate better with him."  
  
"I am aware," Faramir said sourly.  
  
Eowyn said no more for a moment, allowing him to lapse into a brooding silence.  She hoped a little time for reflection would let him remove himself from his anger and start formulating a plan.  She started eating again, but he didn't; he seemed to prefer running his fingers along the side of his knife and fork, only occasionally lifting a bite to his mouth.    
  
"Well?" Eowyn demanded, when she could no longer stand the thick silence. "What are you going to do about it?"  
  
"Do?" Faramir blinked at her. "What can I do? Clearly the King has made up his mind."  
  
Eowyn frowned. "Do not tell me you don't intend to speak to him about this, Faramir."  
  
"What is there to say?" There was a hard edge to Faramir's voice. "If the King sees fit to remove a man from under my command then--"  
  
"Oh, stop it," Eowyn interrupted crossly. "'The King' this, 'the King' that. What will you say to _Aragorn_ about it?"  
  
"Nothing," Faramir said shortly.  
  
Eowyn raised one eyebrow. "Nothing?"  
  
"Nothing." Faramir began shoveling food into his mouth, gaze pointedly fixed on his plate.  
  
Eowyn watched him for a moment, tapping the side of her plate with her fork.  Then she suddenly stood, knocking her fork aside. She had Faramir's hand in hers and had dragged him to his feet before he realized what was happening.  "Come," she said grimly, taking long strides towards the door.  
  
Faramir was obliged to follow or be disconnected from his hand. "Eowyn? Where are we going?"  
  
Eowyn wisely waited until they were out in the hallway before answering.  "To see Aragorn. Or 'the King,' if you insist, but he'll correct you every time you say it so you might as well stop now."  
  
Faramir had planted his feet firmly at about "the King," but as Eowyn kept hold of his hand and continued walking as though nothing had happened, Faramir was forced to follow her or create a scene.  "Eowyn!" he hissed angrily.  
  
"Do not fight me, Faramir," Eowyn warned.  "You are his Steward. The two of you _must_ learn to communicate, and if you won't do it on your own then someone will just have to lock you in a room together until you come to terms."  
  
"This is _not_ the way to go about this!!" Faramir was speaking in a vehement whisper as Eowyn dragged him down the hallway, past guards and courtiers alike.  
  
"Oh, I'm sure your method will work _much_ better," Eowyn hissed back at him. "You must at _least_ let him know you disapprove."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because that's what adults do, Faramir," Eowyn said, exasperated. And with that, they reached Aragorn's study. Eowyn knocked firmly on the door.  
  
They were admitted instantly by the guard. Aragorn looked up and smiled warmly when he saw who it was. "Faramir, Eowyn. What can I do for you?"  
  
"Faramir has something he needs to discuss with you," Eowyn announced before Faramir could even open his mouth. And then, while both men were still registering what she had said, she turned and marched out of the room, shutting the door behind her.  
  
_Exit hurricane Eowyn_ , Faramir thought ruefully. What had he gotten himself into with this marriage?  
  
Aragorn looked at him inquiringly.  "What is it, Faramir?"  
  
Faramir squirmed. "I--well--why did you remove Lieutenant Amlach?" he suddenly burst out.  _Graceful, Faramir. Very graceful._  
  
Aragorn blinked. "Because he was a problem."  
  
"Do you remove soldiers from all of your captains' units without informing them?" Faramir asked crisply. He hated the sound of the words leaving his mouth; he hated sounding bitter and petty. But he couldn't help it; he was too angry to censor his words.  
  
"I was doing you a favor," Aragorn replied patiently, almost as though talking to a child.  
  
Faramir felt his cheeks redden. "I did not ask you to do this."  
  
"It would not have been much of a favor if you had, would it?" Aragorn replied with a smile.  
  
Faramir could feel his face hardening. Aragorn's smile faltered.  
  
"I wish you would not subvert me in this manner," Faramir said, his voice tight with anger. "You must not treat me any differently than you do any other captain of Gondor.  I was handling this situation."  
  
"But you weren't," Aragorn pointed out. "It was draining you."  
  
"Who told you that?" Faramir asked sharply.  
  
Aragorn remained silent, and Faramir took a deep breath, realizing he could not reply.  
  
"Nevertheless," he continued in a calmer tone, "I do not require or wish your intervention. I warned you of this."  
  
Aragorn grimaced. "It was not like that, Faramir!"  
  
"It was not your place to do what you did."  
  
Aragorn froze. _No_ , he was thinking.  _No, it was not. I only wish it was_.  
  
Faramir waited in silence. After a moment, Aragorn cleared his throat and smoothed the front of his tunic unnecessarily.  "Very well," he said slowly.  "If that is your wish, then I will abide by it. It won't happen again."  
  
Faramir took a deep breath. "Thank you."  
  
There was an awkward silence. Normally Faramir would have bowed himself out of the room at this point, but Aragorn hated it when he bowed.    
  
Aragorn was fiddling with his stylus. "Have you made any progress with your fear?" he asked suddenly.  
  
Faramir was taken aback. "I--I have not had much time to work on it, Your M--Aragorn."  
  
"Would you like my help again?" Aragorn asked, looking up hopefully.  
  
Faramir did not want to - he felt emotionally wrung out and did not want to face any more time alone with Aragorn.  But more than this he did not want to appear weak, so he nodded his consent.  
  
Aragorn seemed pleased. "Tomorrow evening, then?"  
  
Faramir nodded again. He couldn't stand to stay here any longer. Bowing - he could not help the habit - he left the room with a heavy heart.  
  
Aragorn stared at the closed door for a long time before returning to his work.  
  
  



	11. Distraction

Faramir had not quite finished his breakfast when a knock came at the door to their chambers. Eowyn got up to see what it was; a moment later, she came back into the rotunda where they were eating breakfast, frowning slightly, and held out a small piece of parchment to him.  It had only one thing written on it: _Come see me as soon as you can._   It was unsigned, but it didn't matter.  Faramir recognized the handwriting, as the sender had known he would.  
  
He finished his breakfast quickly and went to the king's study. Aragorn was waiting for him inside, staring blankly at a sheet of parchment in his hands with unmoving eyes.  
  
"Good morning," Faramir said cautiously.  
  
Aragorn glanced up, blinking - it seemed to take him a minute to register who was there.  Then he smiled broadly. "Faramir." He gestured Faramir into the seat across from him,  tossing the parchment down on the desk. "Good morning." He continued smiling at Faramir for a minute, starting to unnerve the younger man.  "What are you doing today, Faramir?"  
  
Faramir thought for a minute. The council was set to convene tomorrow at noon - he had been planning on spending the day grilling the various under-stewards and generally making a terror of himself if he had to to make sure everything would go as planned.  It was important to him that Aragorn's first council be a success.    
  
"Reviewing arrangements for the council tomorrow."  
  
"Someone else can attend to that, though, can they not?" Aragorn asked, waving his hand dismissively.  
  
"I suppose," Faramir said with great misgivings. "What do you wish of me?"  
  
"I want you not to work," Aragorn declared.  
  
Faramir was amused. "And what should I do instead?"  
  
"Go on a picnic," Aragorn replied, unperturbed.  
  
Faramir blinked. "A... picnic?"  
  
"Yes, Aragorn replied calmly.  
  
Faramir started at him a moment. "Very well...but...isn't this a little sudden?" Sudden suspicion made him narrow his eyes. "Why do you want me out of the city?"  
  
Aragorn rolled his eyes. "Oh, Faramir, it's not like that. I'm coming too."  
  
"You're...what?"  
  
~*~  
  
A few hours later, a slightly less mystified Faramir found himself lounging on a grassy hill some miles south of Minas Tirith, arguing with Aragorn over who was entitled to the last lemon tart and watching their wives splash each other in a nearby stream. The only conclusion his food-muddled mind could come to was this: when the king wanted to take a holiday, he really took a holiday.  
  
Any lingering tension from their argument of the day before had melted away as Aragorn jovially herded the three of them into a carriage, going so far as to threaten Eowyn with Anduril when she dutifully protested.  Then he had instructed the driver to take them out of the city and not to stop until they were at least a league away from Minas Tirith, not even if he heard death cries from within the cab.  
  
When escape was rendered impossible, Faramir gave up and started to relax.  It didn't take him long to realize Aragorn had been right; they needed a day off to recuperate before the Council convened. Then he wound up feeling guilty for having fought with Aragorn the day before.  He was still convinced that Aragorn had done wrong, but there had been no reason for him to go and make a scene over it.  
  
Fortunately, Aragorn seemed willing to forget about the whole thing.  Neither he nor Faramir had gone anywhere near the subject - in fact, they were talking about everything _but_ work.  Friends, family, their childhoods, their pet peeves and causes, the women they were married to. Faramir could not remember the last time he'd had a conversation that flowed so well or engrossed him so much.  Before he knew it the food had disappeared and they were holding laughable contests over dessert items. Faramir won the lemon tart by proving himself more flexible; Aragorn earned the bit of fudge they had by writing more ledgibly with his left hand, but soon had to surrender it to Arwen.  Now a raspberry tart was in contention and they were engaged in a hysterical, but nonetheless fierce, battle to prove whose ancestors had suffered more in the service of Gondor.  
  
Not very far away, the women were wading in a stream and being amused that the sight of their skirts tucked up nearly to their waists did nothing to distract the menfolk. "After all, it's not that they're _completely_ immune to our charms," Arwen pouted playfully. "We _do_ manage to get them into our beds."  
  
"I don't know about your bed, Arwen, but mine requires a certain amount of compassion and a great deal of pretending," Eowyn replied frankly. She had long since lost any inhibitions about speaking freely in front of this exhalted Elven lady; Arwen made it her mission to make others comfortable around her. Eowyn did of course sometimes find herself attracted to Arwen; it was impossible not to occasionally yearn for such a beauty. But she had accepted that Arwen could not be hers that way and had contented herself with friendship.  
  
"Mmm. I don't know anything about what Aragorn thinks about while we make love," Arwen confessed. "I've never asked.  I don't know that my ego could handle knowing," she added with a smile.  
  
"Oh, I know _exactly_ what Faramir thinks about..." Eowyn started mischievously.  
  
"Stop!" Arwen cried, laughing and deliberately splashing water on Eowyn. "I don't want to know." Eowyn grinned, but kept her silence.  
  
Arwen grabbed Eowyn's hand for balance as they continued down the river, trying not to slip on the mossy stones. "Tell me something," she said after a moment. "How does Faramir feel about Aragorn?"  
  
Eowyn looked at her, perplexed. "In what manner?"  
  
Arwen shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and not quite managing it. "Is he still angry?"  
  
Eowyn considered. "I don't think so.  He was yesterday, but he certainly doesn't look angry now."  
  
"No, he doesn't," Arwen agreed in an amused tone, watching the men laughing and shoving each other, oblivious to their observation. "Do you think," she said in a casual tone, "that Faramir could ever be attracted to Aragorn romantically?"  
  
Eowyn cocked her head to the side, examining the men. "Now, there's a thought. Yes...yes, he could, I'm certain of it." She paused. "Why?"  
  
"Because, confidentially, my husband's got himself tied up in knots over Faramir. I've never seen him like this." Eowyn smiled. "Confidentially, you understand."  
  
"Oh, I understand. I wouldn't tell Faramir anyway." Eowyn's grin slowly broadened as she observed the two men. "They would make an... interesting couple."  
  
A smile played with the corners of Arwen's lips. "Maybe you could, ah, nudge your husband in the right direction?"  
  
Eowyn's grin became positively feral. "I'll see what I can do."  
  
~*~

Faramir felt more confident, facing the fire that night, than he ever had before. He was calm, stuffed to the gills with good food, and for once nothing stressful or untoward had happened during the day.  He stood at ease beside Aragorn, lightly holding his hand for support, and stared into the small fire they had built, and nothing happened. No memories, no blacking out, no sinister feelings of any kind assailed him.  He almost felt at peace.  
  
Until a strange tingle ran through his palm and up his arm, and he looked up at Aragorn. And found he couldn't look away.  
  
Aragorn's face glowed with firelight, the contours of his jaw and cheeks framed softly and his eyes dancing with it.  His hair captured the light and held it gently, weaving through it like strands of gold.  Faramir's mouth suddenly went dry.  
  
Aragorn continued gazing into the fire, completely unaware of the scrutiny he was now under. His face was both old and young at the same time, and weathered with cares; yet tonight it was peaceful.  His grey eyes captured Faramir's blue ones without even realizing or trying to.  Faramir was entranced; he could not look away.  
  
After the longest of possible moments, the eyes that were so absorbing Faramir flicked up to meet his gaze.  Molten fire swept through Faramir's insides, along with a sudden overwhelming realization. _Oh...I...._  
  
Panic. Faramir stumbled backwards, his suddenly sweaty palm slipping out of Aragorn's grasp. The gentle face focused on him,  concerned. For him.  
  
"I..." Faramir could not get a complete sentence out. He was having trouble breathing; he remembered vividly how Aragorn had once kissed him here. "I'm sorry, I...can't."  
  
Faramir fled the garden.  
  
  



	12. Revelation

Faramir barely made it back to his rooms; it must have been sheer habit that brought him to his door, for he was too dazed to consider where his feet were taking him.  He let himself in quietly, closing the door softly behind him, his mind far away.  
  
He stumbled into the bedroom; Eowyn was lying on her stomach with the lamp lit, reading. She only glanced up. "How did it go?"  
  
"Well," Faramir answered absently.  
  
He went through the motions of getting undressed, not noticing that Eowyn had put her book down and was watching him intently.  He was thinking too hard. _I love him. By Iluvatar, why did it take me so long to know? What am I to do?_  
  
No answers came - none until he lay down in bed, trembling and tense, and suddenly felt Eowyn's warmth along his back and her breath in his ear. "Faramir, what happened?"  
  
"I just need to think," he sighed miserably.  
  
"Faramir." At the urging of her fingers he turned to look at her, and found her face full of compassion. "What happened?"  
  
"I...we didn't fight again, it was nothing like that." Eowyn's face relaxed somewhat. "But--when I turned, and saw him in the firelight, I--" Faramir stumbled, searching for words to define what he had felt. "He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen." Eowyn held his gaze, making it clear that she was listening and she expected him to go on. "I-I felt something..."  
  
If he was not mistaken, there was a sparkle in Eowyn's eyes as she stroked his hair back from his face. "What sort of something?"  
  
"A...tingling," Faramir admitted, blushing.    
  
Eowyn grinned, which made him blush harder.  "A good tingling?" she prompted when he didn't go on.  
  
"Well, a-- I don't know, it was-- Eowyn, stop that!" he said testily. Eowyn blinked, her smile faltering.  “I need to think, just--stop grinning at me like that.” He sat up, aggravated, and dropped his head into his hands. “I have to figure out what to do.”  
  
After a moment, Eowyn sat up and started lightly kneading his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Faramir. I didn’t realize how upset you were.”  
  
Faramir exhaled heavily, his anger evaporating. “Not with you,” he sighed. “I just-- I must think.”  
  
“Well,” said Eowyn cautiously, “it sounds to me like you’re attracted to Aragorn.”  
  
_Attracted_ \--Faramir tried the word out in his mind and grimly dismissed it. It wasn’t strong enough.  But it was a place to start from, so he nodded cautiously.  "And you didn't tell him?" Eowyn continued. Faramir shook his head. "Why not?"  
  
Faramir blinked. "It's not as simple as all that, Eowyn. I'm his Steward. He's the King."  
  
Eowyn was silent for a moment. Faramir was continuing in his spiral towards depression when she said, quite suddenly, "Well? That's your only objection?"  
  
"No," Faramir said--only to find he couldn't find another one to put into words. There was his personal weakness to consider, the fact that even if it could be arranged he was probably not a suitable consort for a King, but he didn't care to bring that up. "But it is a large one."  
  
"Faramir, Aragorn likes you."  
  
Faramir tensed. "How do you know that?"  
  
"He kissed you," Eowyn replied placidly.  "The night before we were married. Unless you were just spinning a fantasy when you told me that."  
  
Faramir deflated again. "Yes, but...I told him I didn't wish to continue anything like that."  
  
"So, tell him you have changed your mind."  
  
Faramir buried his face in his hands again. "It's not that simple! Even if he still cares for me that way, even if he hasn't found someone else it wouldn't work, and when it doesn't we'll have hurt each other but we'll still have to work together--"  
  
"Don't be a coward, Faramir," Eowyn said crossly, tugging on his hair. "You like him. He likes you. That is all I can see to this situation."  
  
"Clearly," Faramir said wearily, "I can see more than you."  
  
"Clearly," Eowyn agreed, unperturbed.  "But since that is all I can see, and since I care for you and Aragorn even if you are a couple of ninnies when it comes to each other, I think I'll just have to tell him you've changed your mind for you."  
  
Faramir stared at her in horror. "You... You wouldn't..."  
  
Eowyn met his gaze frankly, daring him to call her a liar.  But he must have looked truly pathetic, because after a moment her expression softened and she reached out to touch his hair. "I really do like you, Faramir. And I'm not going to let you give this up for yourself. You've got to tell Aragorn how you feel--and if you won't, then I really and truly will."  
  
Faramir stared at her for a moment longer before realizing she was utterly serious. "Alright. Alright, I'll..." He swallowed. "I'll tell him."  
  
"Good. Tomorrow?"  
  
"Tomorrow?" Faramir repeated with panic. "No, not tomorrow, I've got to think through this, I need time."  
  
"I'm just saying, I'll be telling him the day after tomorrow so it might not come as much of a shock to him..."  
  
"Eowyn!"  
  
Eowyn smiled at him, the picture of innocence. "Now aren't you glad you married me?"  
  
~*~  
  
Eowyn reminded Faramir of her promise first thing when they woke up the next morning, and again before he left for the Council.  Threats of future reprisals had no effect on her whatsoever - so it was a nervous and distracted Steward who stood next to the King that morning and helped him through the protocol and ceremony of calling into session the first King's Council in nearly a millenium.  Aragorn noticed his unease, of course, and cast him worried glances, but they had no opportunity to speak until the break at midday. In future sessions they would be expected to confer both regularly and briefly - a quick, whispered conversation with the Steward had saved more than one king of Gondor from embarrassment, as the Steward was allowed to have notes and documents present that the King was not - but today was largely about ceremony. There were long,  formal speeches from each councilor to get through, all about how good it was to have a King in Gondor again, and how brave he had been during the War of the Ring, and how each councilor was certain the area he represented would become the most loyal and fruitful in all of Gondor.  
  
Aragorn listened to each of them with such a grave expression of attention that even Faramir could not tell if was really and truly as interested as he seemed.  But when the time came to adjourn for the midday meal, Aragorn announced that he needed to review the rest of the schedule with Faramir and had whisked him off to the King's private study before much of the council could even get to their feet.  
  
As soon as they were out of the public eye, Aragorn gave a groan and stretched his arms over his head, cracking several joints. "By the Valar, that was excruciating," he groaned. "A man could age very quickly this way."  
  
Faramir indulged himself in a smile. "It will be better after a few days," he said reassuringly.  
  
Aragorn stretched his neck from side to side, looking at Faramir curiously. "You don't look as though you had enough sleep last night," he said in a voice that tried to be casual and didn't quite make it.  
   
"I hardly slept at all," Faramir answered truthfully.  
  
Aragorn looked at him with concern. "Was it...something from the fire last night?"  
  
"Ah...yes," Faramir answered, more or less truthfully.  
  
Aragorn bit his lip. "I didn't know whether to go after you or not," he said worriedly.  "I was afraid I would just make it worse if I did, but I didn't want you to be alone either."  
  
Faramir flushed lightly.  "Oh, I-- I wasn't alone. I have Eowyn. But I-- I do need to talk to you about something." _Thanks to Eowyn._  
  
"Of course," Aragorn replied promptly.  
  
There was a moment of silence before Faramir realized Aragorn was looking at him expectantly. "Not here," he stammered hastily. "I mean, not now. It--it would take to long to get into."  
  
"This evening, then?"  
  
"Aren't you busy?"  
  
Aragorn shook his head. "I wouldn't let them schedule anything tonight. I thought I would need a break after the first day of Council."  
  
Faramir's eyes widened. "Oh, I cannot--"  
  
"This is more important, Faramir," Aragorn interrupted firmly. "I always have time for you."  
  
Faramir hesitated, but in the end he could do nothing but nod. "This evening, then."  
  
~*~

  
Faramir scarcely heard a word that was said in the rest of the Council. He was too busy making himself ill with apprehension. He kept envisioning the scene to come: they would walk down to the king's gardens, Aragorn would sit next to him and ask what was troubling him, and then he would listen attentively as Faramir stammered his way through an explanation. There was no graceful way to lead into the topic.  
  
_Oh, yes, the rangers in Ithilien are seeing fewer and fewer orcs, and did I mention I'm falling in love with you? Perhaps we should lessen the patrols._  
  
It was hopeless.  
  
But he couldn't just blurt out his feelings, could he? There had to be some way of getting around to the subject. At this point in his musings he would usually come to with a start, feeling guilty that he was not taking notes for Aragorn, and listen to a few sentences of the speeches before his mind would start toying with another way to work into the subject, and the cycle would repeat itself.  
  
He didn't know whether to be dismayed or relieved when the Council ended without his having come to any conclusions.  They met up with their wives again for the evening meal, and Faramir promptly sent Eowyn a Look that he hoped conveyed how much revenge he intended to extract upon her for this; she was cheerfully indifferent, kissing his cheek before they sat down.  
  
Faramir had become well aware over the years that in battle, when you needed more time to strategize it would fly by; but when waiting for an enemy's approach, time could slow to a crawl.  He found now that the same was true in civilian life, as he felt like they had barely sat down when the meal was suddenly over and Aragorn was trying to catch his eye. Faramir briefly considered trying to look away, but he met Eowyn's gaze instead and quickly gave up. Rising, the Steward and King dismissed themselves, to the dismay of those hoping to bend their ears over the first day of Council, and headed once again for Aragorn's gardens.  
  
Faramir still had no idea how to go about saying what he needed to say - the only thing he could think was that throwing himself off a cliff was looking like a rather appealing option right now. Fortunately, after a minute or two of desperate hedging and small talk from Faramir, Aragorn seemed to realize he couldn't lead the conversation and took control of it.  They had been walking in aimless circles, talking about the Council meeting, when Aragorn suddenly said, "Faramir, I hope you weren't overwhelmed last night. I couldn't sleep for worrying about you."  
  
_Guilt._ "No, I..." Well, yes, he had been overwhelmed, but not in the way Aragorn was thinking. "I...well..." Unfortunately, his mouth seemed to be suffering some sort of paralysis, and nothing was coming out right.  
  
Aragorn looked at him with increased concern. *I've burdened him too much already.*  The older man took a deep breath. "Faramir, I...there's something I want to ask you. But I realize it may not be my place, and you may not wish to speak to me about it. I should not even ask you, and yet I cannot help but want to know."  
  
"You may ask me," Faramir said, glad for the momentary reprieve.  
  
Aragorn suddenly would not look at him. "I...I should not be asking this," he muttered.  
  
"We have already established that," Faramir said with a small smile. "You can ask me anything."  
  
Aragorn walked forward and leaned against one of the garden walls, seemingly bracing himself.  He stared moodily out into the west. "When...well..." He took another deep breath. "Sometimes when we are trying to get to the root of what's troubling you with the fire, and I know you're thinking about your father, you get an odd look on your face . And I think about something Boromir told me on the quest - something about the way you were raised - that troubles me deeply. And I..." Aragorn shrugged helplessly. "Faramir," he said softly, "did your father ever beat you?"  
  
Faramir froze. This was the last question he had been expecting.  Aragorn was carefully not looking at him, giving him a moment to absorb the question. "Uh..."  
  
"It's okay, you don't have to answer," Aragorn said quickly. "I apologize for asking."  
  
"No, it's not that, it's--" Faramir ran a hand through his hair, trying to get his mind to focus. "You merely surprised me."  
  
"I'm so--"  
  
"It is alright - I said you could ask me."  
  
Faramir took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh; he walked forward, bracing his arms on the same wall as Aragorn so he wouldn't have to look at the other man.  "When I...." He shook his head ruefully. "I cannot believe Boromir spoke to you of this."  
  
Aragorn looked at him with compassion. "It was not as though we just suddenly began to speak of it one day," he said. "We just--I don't know--we were speaking of our families, our childhoods, anything to keep our minds off the Ring." Aragorn smiled slightly, still not looking at him. "He spoke of you constantly, Faramir. And sometimes of your father. He spoke of 'the Steward' and 'Lord Denethor,' and then he spoke of 'Faramir' and 'my brother.' I suppose I became curious about his wording." There was a pause. "What I am trying to say is that he did not betray your confidence in any way. I guessed something was wrong."  
  
Faramir nodded. "My father...we never saw eye to eye."  
  
"You really don't have to answer me," Aragorn said softly. "I was out of line."  
  
Faramir shook his head. "No, I-- I want to tell," he said softly. "I haven't-- since Boromir died, I haven't spoken of--"  
  
He couldn't get further than that, but Aragorn nodded to show his understanding.  Faramir kept his eyes trained on the sunset; it was easier to do this if he didn't have to look at Aragorn while he spoke. "We didn't see eye to eye," he stammered again. "There were times...when he felt it necessary to drive home a particular point to me.  Like--like when I told him I preferred men to women," Faramir said with a sigh. "And--the first time I lost a man on patrol. I can't remember all the times."  
  
"He beat you for loosing a man on patrol?" Aragorn asked, his disbelief apparent in his voice.  
  
Faramir nodded, swallowing past a lump as he remembered the incident. "Only the first time.  It was good for me. It helped me realize what was at stake, how much I needed to... to try and save them..."  
  
"Faramir." There was a world of compassion in Aragorn's voice.  Faramir stopped trying to come up with some way to justify it as Aragorn's arms very gently encircled him. "Faramir, gods. I'm a ranger, I know what it's like to loose someone you were responsible for, someone you loved, especially the first time. And to think...he made you feel responsible, worse than you already did..."  
  
A dozen defenses for his father's behavior leapt into Faramir's head, but he didn't speak any of them.  Instead, he turned and wrapped his arms around the man he wanted so desperately, resting his head on Aragorn's shoulder.  
  
Aragorn quickly pulled him close, as Faramir had known he would. He sighed, relaxing into his embrace. This was so much easier. So much nicer, rather than trying to explain himself or anything else, just to be held and to know he was cared for.  Faramir suddenly realized he had been moving closer to Aragorn and tensed to pull back. But then he stopped.  An idea had just occurred to him. Maybe, instead of stammering and struggling to find the words to tell Aragorn how he felt, he could do it this way.  
  
Faramir didn't allow himself time to think or be afraid.  He just shut his brain down and let his instincts take over. Instead of pulling away he pressed closer to Aragorn, nuzzling his throat.  Instantly he felt pleasure well up in him. Pleasure, and desire for more. _Gods, this feels good._ Even if it didn't work - even if Aragorn pushed him away afterwards - he would have this memory, this one moment of being held not like a friend or an ally, but like a lover.  He could smell the lingering scent of herbs Aragorn carried with him, and it made him remember the last time they had kissed.  It made him forget everything else.  
  
~*~  
  
Aragorn froze in shock when Faramir's lips touched his, certain that he was dreaming.  Faramir pressed against him, gently it was true, but he didn't pull away-- not until Aragorn remained frozen. Then he did pull away, gently, staying close to him. "Thank you," Faramir murmured, his eyes cast down.  
  
Aragorn slowly began to recover from his paralysis. Faramir was tense, but not making any move to pull away. Not like last time. Aragorn parted his lips to ask a question - any question - but instead he found himself moving closer.  Faramir did not move - neither towards nor away from him. He waited.  
  
Slowly, ever so slowly, giving Faramir every chance in the world to back away, Aragorn brought their mouths closer together. He could have cried for relief when their lips finally touched.  Aragorn closed his mouth softly over Faramir's, still hesitant, barely daring to do even so much. Faramir kissed him back gently,  slowly moving his lips against Aragorn's. Aragorn felt the same lust well up inside him that had startled them both so badly last time, but he ruthlessly quelled it, instead kissing Faramir gently, cupping his face lightly between his palms.  
  
After an immeasurable moment they broke apart for breath, definitely not at ease. Faramir could not seem to look at Aragorn; he cleared his throat, glancing about, and finally settled on looking back at the sunset. Aragorn also turned to face the west, but as he did  so, he put his arm across Faramir's shoulders. It was risky, but he wasn't willing to let this moment go, wasn't willing to let Faramir slip away from him again. Not when his lips were tingling and he felt as if his soul had just grown - no, he had to find some way of keeping Faramir here.  
  
A thrill went through him when he felt Faramir's arm tentatively encircle his waist. He drew the younger man closer, lifting his hand to gently stroke Faramir's hair. Faramir tilted his head towards him, finally meeting his eyes. There was a question in Faramir's. Aragorn's voice returned to him. "I thought we weren't going to do this?"  
  
He had been trying to be suave, but he realized it had been absolutely the wrong thing to say when Faramir's face flooded with apprehension. "Only if you want to."  
  
Aragorn released Faramir's shoulders and turned him so they were facing each other, cupping Faramir's face in both his hands. "Faramir, what do _you_ want?"  
  
Faramir stared at him for a moment. Then he moved forward and, without warning, kissed Aragorn deeply. "This," he said simply after he had pulled away.  
  
Aragorn drew him back. "Then we'll do this." He kissed Faramir back, just as deeply, holding him as tightly as he could ever have wished.  And they stayed there in each other's arms, hesitantly touching, drawing closer. They stayed long after the sun had set over Minas Tirith.  
  
  



	13. Chapter 13

Aragorn, as usual, was ignoring Faramir's protests.  
  
_Of course,_ Faramir thought hazily as Aragorn gently kissed a line up his neck, _it doesn't really help that I can't manage to get a complete sentence out._  
  
"We really--" He was interrupted by a kiss to his lips, which he happily pressed into before he could stop himself. "Have to work," he finished breathlessly, ashamed to hear his words come out as a moan when Aragorn released his lips.  
  
"Let it wait," Aragorn said absently, pressing kisses against Faramir's neck again.  
  
"It's been-- oh! --it's been waiting for four days, Aragorn," Faramir stammered, clinging to Aragorn's shoulders for balance as his knees began to shake. "You never... never let us work."  
  
Aragorn lifted his head long enough to grin rakishly at Faramir. "You're not complaining."  
  
"As a matter of fact, I am," Faramir panted, well aware that his credibility was lessened by the fact that he was practically hanging in Aragorn's arms.  
  
Aragorn made some sort of noncommittal noise before refocusing his attention on Faramir's neck, nibbling gently. Faramir groaned, half in frustration and half in arousal. The desk they were leaning against was practically sagging under the weight of haphazard papers and reports that had not been read; Faramir was late for a meeting with the captain of the troops from Belfalas, and Imrahil was waiting outside to see Aragorn, yet here they stood in one another's arms. Nothing even resembling work had been done in the four days past that Aragorn had closeted himself with Faramir during breaks in the Council sessions, and very little had been done at any time.  
  
And yet all the touches between them were still soft, still gentle. Faramir could scream for how gentle it was. Aragorn was clearly afraid of frightening Faramir and having him pull away again, and Faramir was not yet secure enough in the older man's affection to do anything but respond to the touches Aragorn offered.  Faramir already felt like he was in a dream - a dream that he was afraid to shatter. The morning after they had come together, Aragorn had cornered him in his study and subjected Faramir to a long, lingering kiss, saying that he needed to reassure himself that the night before had not been a dream.  Ever since then, Aragorn had taken every opportunity to bring Faramir to a private place for a few moments, to bestow quick and gentle kisses that set Faramir's skin on fire.  
  
Faramir was either about to die of pleasure or go insane from it.  
  
Nevertheless, he made another half-hearted attempt at getting out of Aragorn's arms. He could not begin to imagine the crisis it would be if Imrahil became impatient and came barging in to find them like this.  
  
"There are people waiting for us," he murmured, turning his face away and receiving a kiss on his jaw. Traitorously, his neck arched, silently pleading for more.  
  
But to his intense disappointment, Aragorn sighed and wrapped his arms around Faramir loosely, resting his head gently on top of Faramir's. "You are right, as usual."  
  
Faramir echoed Aragorn's sigh. "I should show Imrahil in?"  
  
"Mm." Aragorn rocked Faramir back and forth for a moment, silently, and Faramir's heart swelled at the simple affectionate gesture. Then, with a final sigh and a kiss to his forehead, Aragorn released Faramir and moved back behind his desk. "Yes, I suppose so."  
  
Faramir straightened his tunic self-consciously. "I'll see you tonight," he reminded Aragorn, who seemed morose.  
  
Aragorn snorted. "Much good may it do us." It was Orbelain, and they would both have to attend the party in the gardens, with no chance to be alone together.  
  
Faramir shrugged. "We have to go."  
  
Aragorn nodded, smiling slightly. "I know. I'll see you then."  
  
Even having been in his arms for so long, even knowing how ridiculous it was, Faramir still had to consciously stop himself from bowing before he left.  
  
~*~  
  
A wardrobe crisis - Eowyn's, not his - made Faramir late arriving to the party that evening, and by the time they got there Aragorn was already surrounded by courtiers. Faramir tried not to be disappointed.  He had more than enough of Aragorn's time to himself as it was; he shouldn't cling to him at a public celebration.  
  
Instead, keeping Eowyn at his side, he retreated to his normal nook, his back to the bonfire. His honeymoon had been arranged so he could skip as many of these parties as possible, but he had still had to develop strategies for staying well away from the central fire--it was far too like the one Denethor had tried to burn him in for him to have any degree of comfort with it.  Aragorn's aid and affection were certainly helping, but for now he still preferred to retreat to his part of the garden, a wall safely between him and the fire.  
  
Unfortunately, having such a regular spot meant he could be easily found and antagonized by those irritated by Aragorn but unwilling to express such agitation directly to the King.  
  
"Lord Duinhir," Faramir said as civilly as he could manage through clenched teeth, nodding to the man who was approaching. Eowyn smiled thinly but made no greeting. Duinhir was the lord of a vale on the far borders of Gondor, one who preferred to govern independent of Minas Tirith's wishes and had practically been dragged kicking and screaming to attend the council.  
  
Duinhir inclined his head slightly. "How fare you this evening?"  
  
"Well," Faramir replied absently. "And yourself?"  
  
Duinhir hesitated quite noticeably before answering. "I am... well."  
  
If Faramir had been in a better mood he might have let the hesitation pass, but he was grumpy both from having to make small talk and from having to stand at one end of the garden when Aragorn was on the other.  "Your tone speaks other than your words," he said. "What troubles you?"  
  
Duinhir regarded Faramir levelly. "My lord, you are well aware of my opinion of this Council. I see no reason to be away from my land at this troubled time. This is all that ails me."  
  
"The reason," Faramir said heatedly, ignoring the subtle tightening of Eowyn's hand on his arm, "is so that you may know the King's will. Are you opposed to that?"  
  
Duinhir's eyes flashed angrily. _Probably pleased that I rose to his bait._  
  
"I am never opposed to learning the King's will," he said in a dark tone. "What I _am_ opposed to is his apparent favoritism."  
  
Shock rang through Faramir's body at the unexpected accusation. "The King does not express favoritism," he said flatly, well aware that he himself might be the only exception to that rule.  
  
"Then why is it that he performs favors for some of his captains and not for others?"  
  
"Explain yourself," Faramir said sternly. "Defend your accusation."  
  
"A kinsman of mine," Duinhir said angrily. "An officer under _your_ command, who was removed by the King and sent to labor in the rebuilding far away."  
  
Faramir suppressed a groan with difficulty. He should have known that business with Lieutenant Amlach would come back to him. "That was a miscommunication," he said carefully through gritted teeth. "It was not intended, and the order has already been dispatched for Lieutenant Amlach to return to the city."  
  
"Indeed," Duinhir said drily. "And just how many other miscommunications has the King made on your behalf?"  
  
Anger flared in Faramir. "He has no need to do so," he hissed, surging forward and ignoring the cautionary tightening of Eowyn's hand on his arm. "I fight my own battles."  
  
"You use him as a shield the way you used your brother," Duinhir snapped back, as livid as Faramir. "You cannot face your own battles."  
  
"Try me!"  
  
Before Faramir knew what was happening, Eowyn's hand was gone from him and Duinhir was dragging him away from the sheltering wall so quickly he stumbled.  
  
"You would have a test?" Duinhir said in a low voice, tight with anger. "I would give you one."  
  
There was fire everywhere....  
  
~*~  
  
Aragorn knew well where Faramir had hidden himself. He suspected if they could not do something about this fear of fire soon, his Steward would earn a reputation for intense shyness. But he did not seek him out - though he was loath to admit it, Faramir was right about the amount of time they were spending together.  Instead he stationed himself on the other side of the large garden they used for these parties, his back to Faramir's preferred hiding place so his eyes wouldn't wander. He was the King now, and one of the disadvantages of being a King was not getting as much time with his lover as he would have liked.  
  
_Lover?_   Aragorn let his mouth quirk slightly. He had not yet seen Faramir less than fully clothed, much less loved him.  To call him his lover would be getting ahead of himself.  
  
Aragorn allowed his mind to wander - he doubted very much the courtier talking his ear off would notice as long as he maintained an attentive facial expression and made the occasional noise of interest. _Lover, indeed._ He let himself drift into one of his favorite fantasies - himself, and Faramir, in a warm bathing room.  In the fantasy the air was heavy with steam and moisture and their skin and hair was damp; Aragorn reached out his hands and slowly undid the clasps on Faramir's tunic, running his hands appreciatively over the skin revealed to him. Faramir shivered at his touch, moving closer. Then he smiled, a mischievous little smile, and reached out to Aragorn--  
  
"Aragorn."  
  
Aragorn nearly jumped out of his skin.  Arwen was next to him, and he had not noticed her approach.  She spoke into his ear, so no one else could hear. "Aragorn, something's happened."  
  
He could tell from her tone that she wanted him to go take care of whatever it was. He gave an apologetic look to the courtier who was watching curiously. "Excuse me, it seems there's something that requires my attention." He almost rolled his eyes at himself - he ought to be able to come up with better than that - but the courtier nodded her acceptance and moved away.  
  
Aragorn turned to face his wife. Her face was grave. "Don't panic," she warned.  
  
Aragorn, of course, immediately began to panic. "What's happened?"  
  
"Faramir had an episode with the fire," Arwen said grimly. "Don't panic!" she added as she saw Aragorn's face. "Very few people noticed. Eowyn took him back to their rooms, but I think you should go to him."  
  
Aragorn swore. "But why would he--"  
  
"I'll deal with it," Arwen said firmly. "Go."  
  
Aragorn went. It was beyond his ability to maintain a calm facial expression, but he managed to restrain himself to walking, not running, as he quickly wound his way out of the gardens and through the nearly deserted corridors.  When he reached Faramir's door he knocked loudly. There was no answer; agitated, he tried the latch and found it open, and let himself in without further reservations.  
  
He found Faramir and Eowyn sitting on the side of their bed; Faramir was halfway changed into his nightclothes, wearing a nightshirt but not yet having taken off his leggings. Eowyn was fully clothed and speaking to him soothingly, apparently trying to coax him into lying down. Faramir was by and large ignoring her, holding his arms around himself and shaking slightly, and Eowyn looked to be at her wit's end.  
  
Aragorn crawled over the bed in his haste to reach Faramir; he had the young man in his arms before either he or Eowyn realized he was there. "Darling, darling, what happened?" he asked softly, burying his face in Faramir's silky hair.  
  
"That man--" Eowyn spat. "That horrible man dragged him up to the fire--"  
  
Faramir said nothing. He did not resist Aragorn's attempts to coddle him; instead he pressed against Aragorn silently, shaking.  Eowyn stopped speaking in mid-sentence, looking back and forth between them. After a moment she leaned forward and kissed the top of Faramir's head.  
  
"Be well, my husband," she said in an entirely softer tone of voice. Then she got up and went into the other room, gently closing the door behind her.  
  
"Faramir, sweetheart, what man? What happened?" Aragorn stroked Faramir's cheek, applying slight pressure under his jaw, trying to get him to look up.  
  
Faramir refused the prompt, ducking his head instead. "I just-- I just can't control this," he said in a quavering voice, clearing fighting down tears.  
  
Aragorn wrapped his arms around him tighter. "Don't be angry with yourself, Faramir."  
  
"How can I not be?" Faramir's voice was laced with anger and self-disgust.  
  
Aragorn kissed the top of Faramir's head, the only place he could really reach right now. "You are not weak, Faramir," he said softly. He knew it was what the younger man needed to hear. "You have survived more than most; your weaknesses are easier to see than most. But you are not a weak man."  
  
Faramir made a soft noise and burrowed closer to Aragorn. Aragorn kissed the top of his head again.  "You are dear to me," he whispered. "Try to calm down. Try to sleep."  
  
"I hear their voices," Faramir whispered. "I see their faces in the fire. Dead men, and my family not the least. When the fire surrounds me, I feel them reaching for me."  
  
"Feel me instead," Aragorn said firmly. He took hold of Faramir's chin and tilted his face up gently, then kissed him slowly and deeply. Faramir allowed the kiss, even returning it, sending shivers through Aragorn's spine. He broke it off before it could get out of hand, kissing Faramir's forehead in reassurance. "You should go to bed."  
  
"I'm in bed," Faramir replied succinctly. "It's going to sleep that may be a problem."  
  
Aragorn smiled fondly, nuzzling his hairline. "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."  
  
Faramir looked at him keenly, as if trying to detect a lie. "Truly?"  
  
"Yes," Aragorn replied, surprised by his surprise.  
  
"You can't," Faramir protested.  
  
"I most certainly can," Aragorn said, wrapping his arms around Faramir firmly. "If anything, I'll just be seen leaving your quarters late at night. People will assume we were taking counsel together. They'll never know I was in here cuddling and kissing you," he said, proceeding to do just that.  
  
Faramir gave that smile he had, the one that possessed the power to turn Aragorn's heart into a puddle of goo. "Thank you," he murmured, nuzzling. "You are too good to me."  
  
"No," Aragorn replied, kissing him gently. "I'm just good enough."  
  
Aragorn helped Faramir out of his leggings, nobly resisting the opportunity to do a little exploring of the younger man's body. Instead he pulled the covers up around them, tenderly stroking Faramir's hair back from his face.  They kissed softly for many minutes before Faramir sighed and nestled his head onto Aragorn's shoulder, relaxing his muscles.  Aragorn lay still for many moments before he felt Faramir's breathing even and his facial muscles, which he had forgotten to unclench, go lax. He remained still, determined that Faramir be deep in sleep before he left. He didn't want Faramir to sense he was gone.  
  
He wished bitterly that he didn't have to leave. There had to be _some_ way of getting from Faramir's rooms to his without being seen by anyone. He would have to think about it.  
  
When Faramir had been breathing with perfect evenness for quite some time, Aragorn sighed and acknowledged to himself that he couldn't really justify staying with him any longer. Though it was a relief to see Faramir so peaceful for once... Aragorn sighed and very slowly shifted himself out from under Faramir, moving his body to lean against a pillow instead. Faramir did not stir. Aragorn pulled the covers up to his chin and placed a feather-light kiss on his forehead before leaving.    
  
He found Eowyn curled up on a chair in the next room, sound asleep. He went back into the bedroom to get a spare blanket and tucked it tenderly around her shoulders before he went back to his own rooms.  
  
~*~  
  
Lord Duinhir waited in the gardens where the Queen had specified she would like him to; he had expected her to fetch the King to scold him for quarrelling with his pet, and so he was surprised when she returned alone. "Follow me, please," she said pleasantly.  
  
"I am yours to command," Duinhir replied formally.  
  
He followed Arwen out of the garden party, as she set her course for the top of the citadel. "There is something I would like to show you," she called over her shoulder.  "A view that I think will help you to understand Prince Faramir better." Duinhir said nothing.  
  
Arwen led him up and up, to the very peak of the citadel itself, and out onto a small alcove with no railing. Duinhir stopped cold. Arwen stepped forward, right to the very edge of the precipice; she turned around and look at him politely. "Will you not come and see?"  
  
Duinhir remained with his back pressed against the wall.  Arwen watched him shrewdly, letting the silence reign.  
  
When enough time had elapsed that Duinhir felt he could stand the silence not a moment longer, Arwen spoke. "You cannot come to the edge?" she said softly.  "A warrior of Gondor? But I, a woman, can do so easily." She walked along the edge to demonstrate, eying him solemnly. Duinhir returned the gaze warily and said nothing.  
  
There was another long silence before Arwen spoke again. "I could have done this in front of the King," she said softly, holding his eyes. "I could have done it in front of men you will have to command." She took a step closer. "I could have done it in front of _your_ wife - as you did it in front of Faramir's."  
  
Duinhir was silent, as still as a rabbit cornered by a hawk.  
  
"There is no such thing as a man without weaknesses," Arwen said firmly. "Even the bravest man has something he cannot face, some fear that lays him low, and he is not a coward. He is still a good man, whether the fear of be heights, or of fire, or of poison, or of being unable to breathe. But the man who preys upon the weaknesses of others--he possesses the worst weakness of all. It is an act of cowardice, and he shall be known as such amongst his friends and enemies both. Think of that before the next time you mount an attack of the kind you brought tonight."  
  
She swept past him without another word or a look, disappearing into the citadel, leaving him to find his own way down from the ledge. 


	14. Accusations

Faramir knew he was in trouble the minute he saw Amlach. What he didn't realize was how much.  
  
He had known he would have to talk to the man eventually and apologize for what had happened. It wasn't something he looked forward to. He disliked the thought of giving  Amlach any leverage over him with an apology, for one thing; but what was most frustrating was that Faramir hadn't actually done anything wrong.  
  
Still, the last thing he was going to do was let Aragorn take the fall for this. In point of fact, he wasn't sure if Aragorn remembered the whole mess - they hadn't spoken about it since the day before their picnic, and Faramir had quietly had the order sent for Amlach to return to the city without mentioning it to Aragorn. With luck, Aragorn would never have to interact with Amlach.  
  
Unfortunately, that left Faramir with the task of pacifying him.  
  
When he saw Amlach heading for him through the crowd, Faramir quickly excused himself from the widow he was talking to and went to meet him, determined not to let Amlach control the meeting. "Lieutenant Amlach. Follow me, please."  
  
Amlach said nothing, but he fell into step behind Faramir. Faramir debated on where to go and finally decided on his public study, not the one attached to his rooms. No need to make this any more personal than it already was.  
  
Faramir closed the door behind them, grateful that someone had already lit the small torches in the wall sconces, for he could not have done so and it would have created embarrassment. His study never got much light, and it was nearing dusk anyway.  
  
He took a deep breath before beginning. "Amlach," he said, hoping dropping the title would lessen the tension, "I'm glad to see you back." That was possibly the most untrue thing he had ever said, but he had to say it. "Let me assure you that this whole mess has been a misunderstanding. I never intended for you to be sent away." That, at least, was true.  
  
Amlach shifted slightly. "You will forgive me, Captain, if I find it difficult to believe you," he said in a subdued tone.  
  
Faramir exhaled. "I will. I do not know how to make you trust me."  
  
Amlach hesitated for a moment, but apparently couldn't resist making a bitter comment. "I do not see why I should, since you do not trust me."  
  
"You have given me no reason to," Faramir said flatly. He was too tired to be tactful. "And _don't_ tell me that Boromir trusted you," he added as Amlach opened his mouth.  "You tell me that too often. I have no way of knowing if Boromir truly treated you as you claimed."  
  
He had hit a sore spot. Amlach jumped to his feet, the force of his standing pushing his chair back a few feet. "Boromir loved me!" he cried.  
  
Faramir blinked, suddenly seeing something for the first time. "You..." He shook his head. No wonder the man was so hostile to him. "You grieve for him."  
  
"How can I not? He left you in his place."  
  
Bile rose in Faramir's throat, and he also stood. _So...one of the countless number who wishes I had died in his place. But Aragorn doesn't. Not Aragorn._  
  
"You are out of line, soldier," he said tightly. Gods knew he had to take this sort of thing from courtiers and diplomats, but not from men under his own command.  
  
"No more than you are, pretending to be what you are not."  
  
"I am the Steward of Gondor," Faramir said, his voice quiet despite his anger. "I pretend to be no more or less."  
  
"You pretend to be Boromir!"  
  
"I do not!" Faramir heard the edge in his own voice and tried desperately to reign himself in. "I do not--"  
  
"Yet you assume his position." Amlach was beginning to pace, running a hand through his hair.  
  
"There is no other to assume it." Faramir was furious and ashamed to hear his voice crack on the words.  
  
Amlach gnawed on his lower lip, silent for a moment. Faramir let him be. He was beginning to become slightly frightened. Amlach seemed unstable to him, somehow. As though his grief for all the pain and loss the war had brought was still there - convoluted, like Faramir's was. Only instead of a fear of fire, Amlach's grief was coming out as rage and hatred.  
  
"I thought you would be like him," Amlach murmured.  
  
The words hit Faramir like a fist to the gut.   _I was never like Boromir, never as good as he was._ "We are as different as brothers could  be," Faramir said calmly.  
  
"And yet he loved you." Amlach was pacing in earnest now, only half speaking to Faramir - it seemed he was speaking to himself, or to no one. "He loved you, loved you more than he loved me. Do you realize how much he thought of you?" Amlach tugged at his hair. "Constantly, he worried about you. Always wanted to be taking care of you instead of the men on the field. And I thought it I could get _close_ to you, if I could be near you I could understand what made a man like Boromir care for you.  
  
"But you're nothing. He felt a sense of duty to you-- because you were his brother, Boromir would have tried to protect you and always get the best for you. He always knew it was his job to protect those weaker than him." Amlach's throat was closing up around his words, and his eyes became bright for a moment. "He never knew how much I loved him. He was too busy loving you."  
  
Suddenly Amlach leaped forward. Stunned, Faramir found himself pinned against the wall.  
  
"I saw him kiss you once," Amlach said raggedly. "Here." And Amlach brushed his lips across Faramir's temple, which had been Boromir's favored way of showing affection.  
  
"Stop," Faramir said uneasily, trembling from the all-too-familiar gesture. He pushed Amlach away roughly.  
  
The small violence incensed Amlach. "So I am unworthy even to touch you?"  
  
"I--" Faramir found himself without words. What did one say to someone suffering repressed grief and unrequited love for one's dead brother? Faramir was so obviously inadequate in Amlach's eyes. What could he do?  
  
"You have nothing to say to me?" Amlach's face darkened even further. "Of course not. You cannot gain from me." He started pacing again. "The King is your new project now. You burden him as you burdened your brother," he said in disgust. "It is your way to find a great man and leech off of him, take him under your spell, make him protect you and give you attention out of a false sense of duty."  
  
"Stop!" Faramir cried. "You have no right to say these things to me."  
  
"But someone must say them!" Faramir made the mistake of meeting Amlach's eyes, just for a moment. There was nothing but hatred for him there.  "Someone must recall you to your duty before it is too late."  
  
"What do you mean?" Faramir asked warily.  
  
"The King will become attendant on you," Amlach warned. "He will focus on you to the exclusion of all else, forgetting his duties and coddling you; and it will lead to disasters greater than Osgiliath. It's better I should say these things now than that they should be said in front of the Council. Better that it should end now."  
  
Amlach suddenly reached out and took one of the torches from the wall.  It probably was not done with the intent of threatening Faramir - maybe he was just distraught and needed something to grasp and crush in his palm - but it didn't matter. Seeing fire in the hands on his enemy made Faramir cry out and jump back. He tripped over the leg of his chair and went sprawling painfully onto the floor.  
  
Amlach stared at him in silence. Faramir didn't dare to move. Then Amlach snorted in disgust and lowered the torch.  
  
"No wonder Denethor tried to burn you," he muttered. He dropped the torch onto the ground, and Faramir was too stunned and overwhelmed to even crawl away from it as Amlach turned his back and left.  
Chapter Fifteen: Sacrifice  
  
For a moment after Amlach left, Faramir was paralyzed. He was aware of the slowly smoldering fire by his side; indeed, he was aware of little else. But he could not move.  
  
Throughout all of Amlach's accusations, one theme had rung clear to him.  You burden him as you burdened your brother...    
  
The fire was drawing closer to him, showing no signs of burning out.    
  
The King will become attendant upon you...forgetting his duties and coddling you...  
  
Faramir thought with sudden horror of the piles of unviewed papers burying his and Aragorn's desks, of the diplomats who had been put off, the Council breaks spent kissing instead of planning their next move.    
  
Someone must recall you to your duty before it is too late... better that is should end now...  
  
And if Amlach was correct about that, as it seemed so suddenly obvious that he was, shouldn't it stand to reason that he was right about all of it? About Faramir's weaknesses, his unworthiness to be next to the King?  
  
Faramir could not take his eyes from the fire. It was as sickeningly entrancing as it had ever been. Now that the thought of Aragorn was bringing greater distress instead of comfort, Faramir was powerless against the flames. He was swimming in a sea of fire, once more hearing the cool voice of his father calling for wood and oil. Despair closed around his heart. He could not move; his limbs were icy immobile, his eyes were sealed shut. In vain he reached out for someone stronger than himself - seeking Boromir, seeking Eowyn, seeking anyone who could save him. But it was not his part to be saved; it was his part to burn.  
  
Faramir cried out as a sudden pain rippled through his palm, sharp, searing his skin and wrenching him from his trance.  He blinked and looked down dumbly at his left palm, the skin already bubbling up with blisters, red and harsh and soot-smeared, in a streak across it. Then he turned and looked at the torch, lying unassuming on its side, a thin trickle of smoke from the smothered head ascending to the ceiling.  
  
Faramir dizzily pushed himself to his feet, holding his hand out in front of him. There. It was your part to burn, after all; you just took your own sweet time doing it.  
  
He stumbled to his desk, disconnectedly wondering if he had any healing supplies in it. He found he was having trouble of thinking past anything but the agonizing pain in his palm. A memory came to him of Boromir, sixteen and fresh from his first summer with the army, trying to impress his younger brother with his knowledge. Burns, Boromir had said confidently, were the worst kind of pain, worse than wounds from arrows or swords or spears. So it would make sense that it is the pain I am destined for.  
  
He opened a few drawers and dug through them with his good hand without caring what a mess he was making, searching for medical supplies. Nothing. Well, he would just go down to the Houses of--  
  
No.  No, Faramir realized with sudden clarity, he would not be able to go down to the Houses of Healing. How could he explain his injury away? He had to keep it hidden. Oh, gods... how will I keep it from Aragorn? From Eowyn?  
  
Faramir left the study in a daze and made his way to his rooms. Eowyn was thankfully elsewhere. He went into their washroom and stared at the herbs and ointments there blankly, as though he couldn't conceive of their purpose.  
  
The bell announcing dinner rang.  
  
Faramir swept the ointments away. He took a bandage out and clumsily wrapped it around his left hand, fumbling and dropping the roll as he went. His aim was not so much to heal as to conceal, but it was nonetheless difficult to wrap one's own hand and it took him longer than it should have. When he finally tied the bandage off he immediately stripped off his tunic and searched through his closet for one with over-long sleeves that might help hide the damage. Then he hurried down the corridor.  
  
He was only a little late taking his place at the table; nearly everyone else had assembled, but the food had not yet been served. Aragorn smiled at him as he sat. Faramir found he could not return the smile, and Aragorn's expression shifted to concern.  
  
Faramir forced a shrug and a half-smile and immediately turned his attention towards Eowyn, infinitely less dangerous for the moment.  He would have to come up with something to tell Aragorn before dinner was over - some plausible excuse for ending the relationship, before it was too late.  
  
Fortunately, they were entertaining one of Eowyn and Eomer's louder and more opinionated cousins that night, and he was speaking at great length and demanding the King's attention for himself. All Faramir had to do was assume an expression of interest and not look very closely at anyone but the speaker, and he was safe to think.  
  
But nothing came. He was used to creating subtle lies and evasions to keep people from getting too close to his emotions, but he'd never attempted something this large before. And what he was trying to think of was so completely foreign to what he wanted that he didn't know where to begin.  Even sitting there in front of the whole court, he had to fight the desire to throw himself into Aragorn's arms and cling to him, to tell him everything that had happened, to cry and beg for his sympathy, his reassurance, to be told none of it was true. But he sat woodenly, nodding when everyone else nodded, and his heart and mind were numb.  
  
When the dishes were cleared away, Aragorn invited Faramir to his study with a nod of his head. It was more or less a habit for them to retire together after dinner, so no on commented as Faramir rose and followed him, his heart pounding.  
  
As soon as they were behind closed doors, Aragorn reached out to embrace Faramir. "You look sad," he commented, trying to kiss him.  
  
Faramir ducked out of range.  Aragorn's arms dropped, his brow creasing. "What's wrong?"  
  
Nothing came into Faramir's mind to say. "I don't feel well," he finally mumbled. He desperately wished he had been able to come up with something to push Aragorn away, but he didn't even know how to begin.  
  
Wordlessly, Aragorn held his arms out. Faramir moved into them without conscious thought; his body just went. Aragorn's arms wrapped around his waist; Faramir leaned his head on the older man's shoulder, sadly putting his arms around Aragorn's neck. At least I ought to be able to hold him - one last time, before it ends.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Aragorn felt that there was something wrong with Faramir's hand when it brushed against the back of his neck. He frowned, but didn't say anything right away. Clearly Faramir had had a hard day.  
  
Aragorn smoothed his hair and rocked him silently, hoping that Faramir would open up and tell him what was wrong without prompting. But his Steward was quiet. Aragorn nuzzled his hair affectionately, making his tone casual. "What happened to your hand?"  
  
After a pause, Faramir replied in a tired, dead tone. "I burned myself."  
  
Aragorn pulled back slightly, looking at Faramir with shock. "Deliberately?"  
  
Faramir wouldn't look at him. He looked tired - as tired as he had seemed on his wedding day, when there had been misunderstanding and hurt feelings between them.  He nodded mutely.  
  
Aragorn was at a loss for a moment. All he could do was stare and think how miserable Faramir looked, and how uncharacteristic it was for him to admit to what he had done instead of trying to evade the issue, trying to spare Aragorn the knowledge.  
  
Aragorn swallowed and gently led Faramir over to sit against the edge of his desk.  Faramir went docilely, still not looking at him. Slowly, Aragorn removed the bandage clumsily wrapped around Faramir's left hand.  
  
When he saw the extent of the damage, Aragorn got dizzy for a moment. "Oh, honey," he said softly.  
  
Faramir flinched, and a few tears trickled down his cheeks, but he said nothing.  
  
Aragorn swallowed again. He tried to assess the wound as a healer, not as a concerned lover, and decided to let Faramir keep his silence for the moment. He brought supplies out of his desk and cleaned Faramir's hand as gently as he could, for the wound was still fresh. Then he covered it with a light herbal paste and rewound the bandage much more efficiently. When he was through he did not relinquish Faramir's hand, but held it lightly in both of his own.    
  
"What happened?" he asked softly.  
  
Faramir still would not look at him. "I've just had a bad day," he finally murmured.  
  
"Is there anything I can do?" Aragorn asked eagerly, reaching out to put an arm over Faramir's shoulders.  
  
"No," Faramir said quickly. Aragorn froze just before his arm would have touched Faramir. Faramir had flinched again, but this time it was away from his touch.  
  
Aragorn took a deep breath. He didn't want to, but he had to ask. "Is this-- is this because of me?" he asked haltingly, touching the bandage.  
  
Faramir hesitated a moment before answering. "Yes," he said quietly.  
  
Aragorn's hand dropped like lead. There was dead silence for a moment. Faramir would not look at him;  he sat listlessly on the desk, not fidgeting or showing signs of discomfort, just sitting there with his head turned away.  
  
Aragorn took a deep breath. "What-- what can I do?" Nothing. "How can I fix this, Faramir?"  
  
Faramir looked at him for the first time since coming into the study. His face was a mask. "I think we shouldn't see each other," he said calmly. "As anything but King and Steward, that is."  
  
Aragorn managed to keep his face composed. "If that's what you wish," he said equally calmly, even though his throat had gone dry.  
  
"It's for the best," Faramir said with conviction.  
  
Silence. Aragorn now felt like Faramir looked: too worn out to care about anything, emotionally dead for the time being. They sat against the edge of the desk like two zombies. Then Faramir stirred.  
  
"Thank you for being kind to me," he said, with the first hint of real emotion in his voice all evening. "But it wouldn't have worked out." He rose from the desk, bowed slightly, and left the room.  
  
  



	15. Sacrifice

For a moment after Amlach left, Faramir was paralyzed. He was aware of the slowly smoldering fire by his side; indeed, he was aware of little else. But he could not move.  
  
Throughout all of Amlach's accusations, one theme had rung clear to him.  _You burden him as you burdened your brother..._  
  
The fire was drawing closer to him, showing no signs of burning out.    
  
_The King will become attendant upon you...forgetting his duties and coddling you..._  
  
Faramir thought with sudden horror of the piles of unviewed papers burying his and Aragorn's desks, of the diplomats who had been put off, the Council breaks spent kissing instead of planning their next move.    
  
_Someone must recall you to your duty before it is too late... better that is should end now..._  
  
And if Amlach was correct about that, as it seemed so suddenly obvious that he was, shouldn't it stand to reason that he was right about all of it? About Faramir's weaknesses, his unworthiness to be next to the King?  
  
Faramir could not take his eyes from the fire. It was as sickeningly entrancing as it had ever been. Now that the thought of Aragorn was bringing greater distress instead of comfort, Faramir was powerless against the flames. He was swimming in a sea of fire, once more hearing the cool voice of his father calling for wood and oil. Despair closed around his heart. He could not move; his limbs were icy immobile, his eyes were sealed shut. In vain he reached out for someone stronger than himself - seeking Boromir, seeking Eowyn, seeking anyone who could save him. But it was not his part to be saved; it was his part to burn.  
  
Faramir cried out as a sudden pain rippled through his palm, sharp, searing his skin and wrenching him from his trance.  He blinked and looked down dumbly at his left palm, the skin already bubbling up with blisters, red and harsh and soot-smeared, in a streak across it. Then he turned and looked at the torch, lying unassuming on its side, a thin trickle of smoke from the smothered head ascending to the ceiling.  
  
Faramir dizzily pushed himself to his feet, holding his hand out in front of him. _There. It was your part to burn, after all; you just took your own sweet time doing it._  
  
He stumbled to his desk, disconnectedly wondering if he had any healing supplies in it. He found he was having trouble of thinking past anything but the agonizing pain in his palm. A memory came to him of Boromir, sixteen and fresh from his first summer with the army, trying to impress his younger brother with his knowledge. Burns, Boromir had said confidently, were the worst kind of pain, worse than wounds from arrows or swords or spears. _So it would make sense that it is the pain I am destined for._  
  
He opened a few drawers and dug through them with his good hand without caring what a mess he was making, searching for medical supplies. Nothing. Well, he would just go down to the Houses of--  
  
No.  No, Faramir realized with sudden clarity, he would not be able to go down to the Houses of Healing. How could he explain his injury away? He had to keep it hidden. _Oh, gods... how will I keep it from Aragorn? From Eowyn?_  
  
Faramir left the study in a daze and made his way to his rooms. Eowyn was thankfully elsewhere. He went into their washroom and stared at the herbs and ointments there blankly, as though he couldn't conceive of their purpose.  
  
The bell announcing dinner rang.  
  
Faramir swept the ointments away. He took a bandage out and clumsily wrapped it around his left hand, fumbling and dropping the roll as he went. His aim was not so much to heal as to conceal, but it was nonetheless difficult to wrap one's own hand and it took him longer than it should have. When he finally tied the bandage off he immediately stripped off his tunic and searched through his closet for one with over-long sleeves that might help hide the damage. Then he hurried down the corridor.  
  
He was only a little late taking his place at the table; nearly everyone else had assembled, but the food had not yet been served. Aragorn smiled at him as he sat. Faramir found he could not return the smile, and Aragorn's expression shifted to concern.  
  
Faramir forced a shrug and a half-smile and immediately turned his attention towards Eowyn, infinitely less dangerous for the moment.  He would have to come up with something to tell Aragorn before dinner was over - some plausible excuse for ending the relationship, before it was too late.  
  
Fortunately, they were entertaining one of Eowyn and Eomer's louder and more opinionated cousins that night, and he was speaking at great length and demanding the King's attention for himself. All Faramir had to do was assume an expression of interest and not look very closely at anyone but the speaker, and he was safe to think.  
  
But nothing came. He was used to creating subtle lies and evasions to keep people from getting too close to his emotions, but he'd never attempted something this large before. And what he was trying to think of was so completely foreign to what he wanted that he didn't know where to begin.  Even sitting there in front of the whole court, he had to fight the desire to throw himself into Aragorn's arms and cling to him, to tell him everything that had happened, to cry and beg for his sympathy, his reassurance, to be told none of it was true. But he sat woodenly, nodding when everyone else nodded, and his heart and mind were numb.  
  
When the dishes were cleared away, Aragorn invited Faramir to his study with a nod of his head. It was more or less a habit for them to retire together after dinner, so no on commented as Faramir rose and followed him, his heart pounding.  
  
As soon as they were behind closed doors, Aragorn reached out to embrace Faramir. "You look sad," he commented, trying to kiss him.  
  
Faramir ducked out of range.  Aragorn's arms dropped, his brow creasing. "What's wrong?"  
  
Nothing came into Faramir's mind to say. "I don't feel well," he finally mumbled. He desperately wished he had been able to come up with something to push Aragorn away, but he didn't even know how to begin.  
  
Wordlessly, Aragorn held his arms out. Faramir moved into them without conscious thought; his body just went. Aragorn's arms wrapped around his waist; Faramir leaned his head on the older man's shoulder, sadly putting his arms around Aragorn's neck. _At least I ought to be able to hold him - one last time, before it ends._  
  
~*~  
  
Aragorn felt that there was something wrong with Faramir's hand when it brushed against the back of his neck. He frowned, but didn't say anything right away. Clearly Faramir had had a hard day.  
  
Aragorn smoothed his hair and rocked him silently, hoping that Faramir would open up and tell him what was wrong without prompting. But his Steward was quiet. Aragorn nuzzled his hair affectionately, making his tone casual. "What happened to your hand?"  
  
After a pause, Faramir replied in a tired, dead tone. "I burned myself."  
  
Aragorn pulled back slightly, looking at Faramir with shock. "Deliberately?"  
  
Faramir wouldn't look at him. He looked tired - as tired as he had seemed on his wedding day, when there had been misunderstanding and hurt feelings between them.  He nodded mutely.  
  
Aragorn was at a loss for a moment. All he could do was stare and think how miserable Faramir looked, and how uncharacteristic it was for him to admit to what he had done instead of trying to evade the issue, trying to spare Aragorn the knowledge.  
  
Aragorn swallowed and gently led Faramir over to sit against the edge of his desk.  Faramir went docilely, still not looking at him. Slowly, Aragorn removed the bandage clumsily wrapped around Faramir's left hand.  
  
When he saw the extent of the damage, Aragorn got dizzy for a moment. "Oh, honey," he said softly.  
  
Faramir flinched, and a few tears trickled down his cheeks, but he said nothing.  
  
Aragorn swallowed again. He tried to assess the wound as a healer, not as a concerned lover, and decided to let Faramir keep his silence for the moment. He brought supplies out of his desk and cleaned Faramir's hand as gently as he could, for the wound was still fresh. Then he covered it with a light herbal paste and rewound the bandage much more efficiently. When he was through he did not relinquish Faramir's hand, but held it lightly in both of his own.    
  
"What happened?" he asked softly.  
  
Faramir still would not look at him. "I've just had a bad day," he finally murmured.  
  
"Is there anything I can do?" Aragorn asked eagerly, reaching out to put an arm over Faramir's shoulders.  
  
"No," Faramir said quickly. Aragorn froze just before his arm would have touched Faramir. Faramir had flinched again, but this time it was away from his touch.  
  
Aragorn took a deep breath. He didn't want to, but he had to ask. "Is this-- is this because of me?" he asked haltingly, touching the bandage.  
  
Faramir hesitated a moment before answering. "Yes," he said quietly.  
  
Aragorn's hand dropped like lead. There was dead silence for a moment. Faramir would not look at him;  he sat listlessly on the desk, not fidgeting or showing signs of discomfort, just sitting there with his head turned away.  
  
Aragorn took a deep breath. "What-- what can I do?" Nothing. "How can I fix this, Faramir?"  
  
Faramir looked at him for the first time since coming into the study. His face was a mask. "I think we shouldn't see each other," he said calmly. "As anything but King and Steward, that is."  
  
Aragorn managed to keep his face composed. "If that's what you wish," he said equally calmly, even though his throat had gone dry.  
  
"It's for the best," Faramir said with conviction.  
  
Silence. Aragorn now felt like Faramir looked: too worn out to care about anything, emotionally dead for the time being. They sat against the edge of the desk like two zombies. Then Faramir stirred.  
  
"Thank you for being kind to me," he said, with the first hint of real emotion in his voice all evening. "But it wouldn't have worked out." He rose from the desk, bowed slightly, and left the room.  
  



	16. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (At the time I was finishing this story I had a big RL issue which left me without either desire or time to write, so regretfully, these last two chapters are a bit rushed.)

Aragorn stayed in his study for a while after Faramir left. He sat against the edge of his desk, then moved behind it, trying to find something to do. He picked up papers and then put them down, because they inevitably reminded him of Faramir. Things he needed Faramir's help with, or that Faramir had brought to him to do. Things he didn't even need his Steward to do, but that he wanted Faramir's advice with. That was all there was on his desk. _What are you looking for. He's not here._  
  
Aragorn left the room and made his way back to his chambers. He didn't even  notice the guards and courtiers bowing themselves out of his way as he picked up speed, finally thinking of an objective: sleep. He would go to bed and sleep this off; things always hurt less after you had slept on them.  
  
Arwen was in the front room reading; when he didn't say hello to her, but stumbled blindly into the bedroom, she followed him curiously. "Aragorn? Is something wrong?"  
  
The innocent caring of her query quickly shattered Aragorn's defenses. He sat down numbly on the edge of the bed, halfway through stripping out of his clothes. "Faramir," he began, but couldn't get any farther.  
  
Arwen sat next to him, automatically reaching for his hand and gripping it tightly. "What about Faramir?"  
  
Words were having a hard time getting through the large lump in Aragorn's throat. "Doesn't want to see me anymore," he said thickly.  
  
"What? Why?"    
  
"He... he hurt himself..." Aragorn frowned, trying to remember exactly what Faramir _had_ said to him.  All he could think of was the overwhelming panic and unhappiness that Faramir's words had brought on, not the actual words themselves. "It was because of me."  
  
Arwen's hand flew to her mouth. "He hurt himself?"  
  
Aragorn nodded, waves of misery washing over him. Saying it to Arwen made it all real. "But--but he seemed so happy with you," Arwen stammered.  
  
"He must not have been." Aragorn pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying not to cry. "Arwen, I'm not that unobservant. I should have known if he was unhappy. If he didn't want to be with me anymore; I should have sensed it. Not just out of the dark like this."  
  
Arwen was frowning. "Yes," she said slowly. "Yes, you should have."  
  
Aragorn gave a hollow laugh. "I guess living in a stone city has dulled my intuition more than I thought."  
  
"No, I didn't mean that." Arwen looked at him thoughtfully. "Aragorn, something must have brought this on."  
  
"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked, scrubbing at his eyes.  
  
"Something must have upset him today," Arwen said firmly. "And if you didn't see him all day, then it wasn't you."  
  
"But why would he take it out on me?"  
  
Arwen paused. "That's a good question," she finally said. "You'll have to ask him."  
  
Aragorn felt a faint stirring of anger. "He doesn't want to see me anymore."  
  
Arwen rolled her eyes. "Aragorn, Faramir loves you."  
  
Aragorn stared at her. She seemed perfectly confident. "He's never said so," he finally stammered.  
  
"Well, he's shy. I imagine you'll have to be the first one to say it." Arwen leveled a piercing look at him. "And don't try to pretend to me that you're not in love with him, either. It's obvious to everyone but you and him."  
  
"Everyone being you and Eowyn."  
  
"And who better to see it? Aragorn, you have to go talk to him."  
  
"He doesn't want to see me," Aragorn muttered stubbornly. But Arwen's confidence was slowly making an impression on him, and his heart was fluttering--he wished it wouldn't, he wished he could just give up now. What if Faramir rejected him a second time, made it completely and abundantly clear that he didn't want Aragorn?  
  
What if he didn't ask, and spent the rest of his life wondering if Faramir had really wanted Aragorn to chase after him?  
  
"He _says_ he doesn't want to see you. You owe it to yourself to find out if it's true or not."  
  
"He didn't even say that," Aragorn said in sudden realization. "He just said--he said it wasn't for the best for us to see each other."  
  
They stared at each other for a moment.  
  
"Go to him," Arwen said, but Aragorn was already up. He left the room without a second thought, hurrying through the hallways at a brisk walk, aching to run but knowing it would attract too much attention.  
  
He didn't allow himself to think or to become nervous. he just walked until he was at the door to Faramir's rooms and then knocked firmly.  
  
Nothing happened. Gritting his teeth, Aragorn knocked again, harder. And a third time.  
  
The door was finally flung open - Eowyn was on the other side, looking frazzled. "What?" she snapped before she saw who it was. Aragorn opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but then Eowyn actually looked at him. "Oh, good," she said in tones of immense relief, stepping back to let him in.  
  
She shut the door, and then suddenly turned and looked at him piercingly. "Wait-- what are you here to do?" Again, Aragorn was speechless. "You're not going to hurt him further?"  
  
Aragorn managed to find his voice. "No. I love him," he said carefully, trying the words out and finding he loved them. "I came to tell him that."  
  
Eowyn took a deep breath. "Then get in there."  
  
Truly worried now, Aragorn crossed to the door of their bedroom in seemingly only a few strides. He paused before opening the door. "You might--this might take a while," he said awkwardly. "You might want to stay with Arwen." Eowyn nodded in agreement.  
  
Aragorn turned back to the door and took a deep breath before pushing it open.  The room was lit only by a single candle, but Aragorn could clearly see Faramir slumped across the bed, devoid of his shirt but still wearing his leggings, with a sleeping robe lying on the bed next to him. Clearly Eowyn had been trying to get him into bed. Faramir was lying face down against the pillows--Aragorn could not hear him crying, but his shoulders were shaking.  
  
Aragorn was not consciously aware of moving, but next thing he knew he found himself at the bedside, grasping Faramir's shoulders and pulling him into his arms. Faramir looked up at him, face tearstained, bewildered--but he had time for no more than realizing who was holding him before Aragorn sealed his lips over Faramir's, kissing him deeply, not giving him time to protest. _If he truly doesn't want me, he can push me away._  
  
Faramir didn't push him away; but neither did he return the kiss. He seemed paralyzed with shock. Aragorn kissed him deeply anyway, pulling back only long enough to grab a lungful of air before kissing him again, pressing their chests together, trying to communicate his love through touch alone. Faramir broke out of his daze and made his distress known, trying to twist out of Aragorn's arms, but Aragorn wouldn't let him go. He wasn't holding Faramir tightly enough that if Faramir couldn't put him on the floor if he wanted to--only hard enough to make his point, that he wasn't letting go without a fight.  
  
Then Faramir stopped fighting. Suddenly he gave up all resistance and allowed his tongue to respond to Aragorn's, moaning lightly. His hands moved through Aragorn's hair.  
  
Aragorn felt a thrill of victory rush through him and deepened the kiss even further. "I love you," he whispered when he broke away for a moment of air. He bent to kiss Faramir again and again, intent on overwhelming the younger man past the point of resistance. "Don't push me away," he breathed in between kisses. "I love you, I'll always love you. Don't ever let anyone convince you otherwise."  
  
There were tears on Aragorn's cheek that he didn't think were his. Aragorn looked at Faramir closely--he was weeping. A tremor of fear went through Aragorn--had he been wrong yet again? Or were these tears of relief?  
  
"Faramir," he said slowly and carefully. "Look at me."  
  
Faramir lifted a tearstained face to him. Aragorn couldn't read it. "I need to know," he said, "if you want me. Not if it's  good for us to be together," he added firmly, taking Faramir's hands and holding them tightly. "Not if it's for the best or not, not whether you think I want you, or what you think you do to me: just if you want me."  
  
Faramir stared at him for a moment, trembling. He licked a tear away from the corner of his mouth. "I want you," he said quietly, his voice shaking even more than his body, "more than I've ever wanted anything in my life."  
  
Aragorn knocked him onto the bed with the force of his kiss this time. Faramir wrapped his arms tightly around Aragorn's neck, kissing back passionately. But even as Aragorn's body begged him to strip Faramir and take him right there, he knew it wasn't time. He needed to understand what had happened today. And Faramir needed to know how much he loved him.  
  
So after entirely too brief a time Aragorn pulled back. Faramir was gasping, his eyes slightly dilated. "We need to talk," Aragorn said apologetically.  
  
Faramir nodded, taking a deep breath, trying to compose himself.  Aragorn grabbed the robe that was still lying on the bed and wrapped it tenderly around Faramir's shoulders. He knew if they were going to have any kind of conversation they had to get out of the bedroom, so he took Faramir's uninjured hand and pulled him upright, gently leading him into the garden.  
  
As soon as they were seated on a bench Faramir turned to Aragorn, silently seeking affection, pressing close against him and shivering slightly. Aragorn attempted to enclose the younger man in his arms, feeling that he could not possibly hold him tightly enough. Faramir was not the only one who needed  reassurance.  "I love you," Aragorn said again, burying his face in Faramir's hair, praying that this time there would be an answer.  
  
And there was. Faramir tilted his head up to look Aragorn in the eyes. "I love you too," he replied quietly, without a trace of anything Aragorn could interpret as fear or uncertainty.  
  
Despite his noble intentions in taking Faramir into the garden, Aragorn found himself kissing him again.  Faramir pressed into him, one hand tangling in his hair. Aragorn ran his hands up and down Faramir's back, both reassuringly and possessively, and felt Faramir shudder.  
  
He was hard pressed to pull away from the kiss, but eventually he had to breathe. He rested his head atop of Faramir's to prevent diving down and kissing him again, cradling the younger man gently in his arms. Neither spoke for a moment, both regaining their breath and their composure. Then Aragorn asked quietly, "Faramir, why did you tell me you didn't want this?"  
  
Faramir was quiet. Aragorn stroked his hair reassuringly, but he didn't retract the question. Finally, Faramir wetted his lips and said softly, "I thought--I thought I was too much a burden to you."  
  
Aragorn's brow creased. "A burden?"  
  
"You are the King," Faramir replied quietly. "You need to be undisturbed. I am a burden to you."  
  
"You are a strength. I can't function without you, Faramir." Aragorn laced his fingers with the ones of Faramir's undamaged hand, still cradling the other one gently. "Having you makes me stronger, not weaker."  
  
Faramir shook his head. It looked for a moment as though he was going to pull back again, but instead he spoke quietly.  "Whatever strength I give to you is overpowered by the time I demand of you. You can't deny that things have been slowing down since we've been together. I burden you like I burdened my brother."  
  
Aragorn narrowed his eyes. Faramir hardly ever said "my brother" instead of "Boromir;" this was not his own phrasing. "And who told you that?" he demanded gently.  
  
Faramir looked slightly guilty. "Amlach," he admitted.  
  
Aragorn felt a surge of anger and forced it down, determined to deal with it later. "You should have left him in Osgiliath," he contented himself with saying succinctly.  Faramir shrugged awkwardly. "So this is what this has all been about? Why you pulled away from me?"  
  
Faramir was quiet for a moment. Aragorn forced himself not to fill the silence with anxious words. Faramir was talking to him, really talking about what he felt, and Aragorn would give him as long to find the right words as he needed.  
  
Finally Faramir faced him, his grey eyes watery. "It is not an easy thing," he said quietly, "to look at the man you love, the man you hope everything for..." His voice was trembling with emotion. "To see how much your presence distracts him, makes him less able to function. To try so hard  
to help him, to be what he needs, to have everything there for him. And then, to undo everything you've tried to create by your very presence."  
  
Aragorn was speechless. Faramir did not drop his gaze. It was clear that he meant every word he had said.  
  
"But... but Faramir," Aragorn stammered. "How could I... how could I even hope to accomplish anything if you weren't here? It would have taken me months, gods, maybe even years, to organize this Council if you hadn't already known how to do it, if you hadn't been _willing_ to do it. I may have served in Gondor's army once but it was decades ago, and anyway I was a soldier, I'm completely out of my depth when it comes to court and politics. But it comes to you like breathing. I would be lost without you."  
  
"You cannot deny that I  burden you at times," Faramir insisted stubbornly.  
  
Aragorn cupped his chin in one hand, forbidding Faramir to look away."It is the privilege of those we love to burden us sometimes," he said firmly. "If you never burdened me then this would not be love.  And it is love, Faramir," he finished softly.  
  
There was scant light from the moon and stars, but Faramir's eyes were catching it all, glistening with tears. "I know," he whispered. "At least... I should have known."  
  
That was the end of Aragorn's restraint. Fortunately Faramir didn't seem to disapprove of the shift from conversation to kissing, didn't try to pull back as he frequently did, but met Aragorn kiss for kiss, holding as tightly as he was being held. Aragorn knew it was time. "Faramir," he gasped as he broke from the kiss, panting hard. "Faramir, please. Let me make love to you."  
  
Faramir nodded, tears trembling at the corners of his eyes. Aragorn needed no further invitation to scoop his Steward into his arms and take him back inside, laying him tenderly onto the bed before crawling over him, bearing his own weight. Both their breaths were already coming short and fast; Faramir's eyes were wide with desire.  
  
"I can't believe I'm being given this," Aragorn whispered, over and over, as he slowly undressed Faramir, slowly allowed himself to be undressed. "I can't believe you're letting me have this."  
  
"Hush," Faramir said, sounding almost amused in the midst of their passions. "It was always yours." He would have said more, but Aragorn felt that answer worthy of a kiss so long that by the time it ended, Aragorn was already inside him and Faramir was no longer capable of speech.  It was painful, but the pleasure overrode the pain so thoroughly that pain became part of the pleasure, and Aragorn muffled Faramir's screams with his own mouth so that they didn't wake the whole court. Faramir wanted desperately to speak to him, share some small part of what he was feeling, but in the end he surrendered to the waves of pleasure and let his body speak for him. Aragorn was more passionate, more attentive, than anyone had ever been to Faramir. It was no wonder that he still couldn't speak for several minutes after it was over, could do nothing but hold Aragorn's hand with his undamaged one, stroking it weakly while Aragorn watched with a mixture of love and concern.  
  
After a moment, when Faramir's breathing had slowed to an almost normal range, Aragorn reached across his lover's body and gently touched the bandage on his left hand. "Faramir," he murmured, letting his fear and worry show in his voice. "Don't do this again."  
  
"No." Faramir rolled closer to Aragorn, slipping his arms around the other man's neck. "No. I don't need to."


	17. Resolution

Faramir awoke without really knowing why he had. His body was very reluctant to release sleep, and for a moment he only lay there with his eyes closed, wondering why he was awake. Then he felt a movement on the bed next to him, and remembered the night's events.

He opened his eyes. Aragorn was lying next to him, turning fitfully in his sleep; his face spoke of nightmares. Faramir watched for a moment, wondering if he could manage to soothe Aragorn without actually waking him, not knowing if he was a light sleeper or not. But then his lover's face twisted into an expression too painful for Faramir to bear. He brushed Aragorn's hair back from his face, speaking his name softly.

Aragorn woke instantly, as Faramir had half-expected. You couldn't survive years in the wild without learning to wake at the slightest noise or touch. Like Faramir, it took Aragorn a few moments to realize where he was. "Ah. Faramir."

"You were dreaming," Faramir said apologetically.

Aragorn blinked twice. "Ah... so I was."

He made to lie back down, pulling Faramir with him, but Faramir stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "What were you dreaming about?"

He saw the decision to be evasive in Aragorn's eyes. "Many things, I can't remember the details."

"Aragorn," Faramir said sternly. "Do not do that to me."

"Do what?" Aragorn asked, looking genuinely confused.

"Help me so much and then refuse to let me help you in turn." Faramir meant to continue being stern, but he found it impossible to keep from moving closer and leaning his head on Aragorn's shoulder. To make up for it, he kept his voice firm. "I won't let you help me if you don't let me help you as well. You are not the only one who dreams of the war."

He know he had been accurate in his guess when Aragorn flinched slightly. "You're right," he said softly, after a moment. "You're not the only one who needs help. I just..."

"Just what?" Faramir prompted.

Aragorn shook his head. "Just nothing. You're right."

Faramir glanced at the window; it was too early to stay up. "Then we'll talk about it tomorrow," he said, letting Aragorn off the hook for the moment. "Or when we have time," he amended hastily, remembering that they were to convene council tomorrow even though it was Orbelain. Two councilors had been dragging a fight out for over a week and Aragorn was sick enough of it that he was fully prepared to hold them hostage tomorrow until it was somehow resolved; as everyone generally looked forward to the evening parties, the hope was that everyone would pressure them to resolve it so they could leave.

"Tomorrow," Aragorn said firmly.

Faramir smiled and settled against him to sleep again.

~*~

By that evening the dispute had indeed been resolved, and the gardens were host to a content Faramir, a stunned Aragorn, and two very smug women nobly refraining from saying, _I told you so_. Rumors buzzed through the assembled courtiers about how the Steward had dazzled everyone in the council, virtually single-handedly bullying the two combatants into a truce with only negligible help from the King and the Lord Duinhir, whose opinions on the King's policies seemed to have recently reversed.

Many people gathered around Faramir to congratulate, but there came a time in the evening when he found himself alone and near the bonfire. Aragorn was at his elbow within a minute, and Faramir could tell from his expression that the King expected to have to shake him out of another reverie.

Faramir smiled and touched his arm gently. "I'm alright."

"Truly?" Aragorn looked doubtly.

"Truly." Faramir watched the fire for a moment, studying his emotions. "It certainly doesn't make me happy. It still scared me. But it's--less, somehow. Something I can cope with."

Aragorn would have quite liked to kiss Faramir, but he settled with a hand on his shoulder, a quiet promise of more later. Faramir smiled at him, interpreting the gesture as it was meant. Then the two men turned their backs to the fire and returned to their wives for the evening.

 


End file.
